Secrets of Blackhall
by V-Ron Strudel
Summary: Glenda sets out for Point Lookout with Charon for her final adventure, only to find herself possessing a book written in blood. A book that needs to be destroyed by the ominous Obelisk. Charon/FLW. Rated for Lemons/Violence.
1. Pilgrim's Landing

**Secrets of Blackhall**

By V Ron Strudel

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><p>AN

_Originally I was planning a full series of quest novelizations from Fallout 3, starting with the main quest and going from there, but it would have taken a long, long time to do and I didn't quite feel like committing myself to such a project. So in the end I decided to just write the last segment, the one you're about to read, and just add a lot more background information along the way._

_This story is a novelization of the Point Lookout quest "Dark Heart of Blackhall." I made a few alterations of my own to make the story more original. Be warned, updates will be rather slow. I just finished the rough draft and I want to make sure that there are no plot holes along the way._

_Also, lots of lemons in this, if you're into that kind of stuff._

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><p><strong>Chapter One<strong>

_Pilgrim's Landing_

"So I tell him, you know what I told him? I told him, 'go fuck some pre-war goat if you can find one, because I ain't gonna to let your damn dick touch me if you've been with raiders!' You know what I'm saying? You don't go fucking raiders, they got all sorts of diseases!"

The early, humid air was thick with the misty smog that hung like a thick blanket over the river. The smell of soggy bark and dead fish was potent, but the burning engines beneath the ferry deck rumbled and emitted a bitter aroma that almost covered it. The Duchess Gambit chugged along at a steady pace, leaving trails of murky water in its wake, and attracting quite a few hungry stares from the Mirelurks sifting through the sandy shoreline. Charon watched them pass by with little interest, but subconsciously, his hand was ready to whip out his shotgun.

"Anyways, after I kicked his ass outta my life, I realized how _boring_ it was in Rivet City. No adventure, no cute guys, and no future for me! Ma would have had me stay there my whole life, but I had a plan up my sleeve. You see this weirdo was working this old hunk of junk back and forth from the Capital Wasteland to Point Lookout, and I think to myself, you know what I thought? I start to think that if there's anywhere my ma wouldn't go looking for me, it'd be Point Lookout."

The cloudy, overcast sky was a sheet of gray over the ship's roof, threatening rain and miserable weather for the rest of the night. Soon, the sun would set and the river would be as pitch black as the sewers of the Capital Wasteland. The odd, foul smell grew stronger and stronger the closer the old ferry boat got to the docks of Pilgrim's Landing. Charon could see the old Ferris wheel Glenda had told him about towering in the distance, a ghostly sight through the mist.

"But I suppose Glenda told you the rest of the story?" She certainly did. He heard it about once a month. "I got sucked into that weirdo cult of Tribals that think the punga fruit is holy or something. Can you believe that? What whackos! I mean, they make you get flying high as Hell off this super punga plant, or something like that, and then the guy who owned the Duchess before me, finds you unconscious, and takes out a piece of your god damn brain! I met Glenda, and she was the only other one who didn't go crazy, other than me of course, and I tell her, you know what I told her?"

Charon sighed. "What?"

"I say to her, meet me at the riverboat in about two days and we'll have all the answers figured out. So I find out the ferryman is the one cutting out our brains! And I locked him up so I could take the boat, and when Glenda found out, you wanna know what Glenda did when she found out?"

The ghoul glanced up from his brooding and couldn't help but look a tad bit curious. Glenda had never told him anything about a ferryman that cut out her brain. "What'd she do?"

Nadine gave him a terrifyingly wide grin and leaned her elbows on the railing, using her bare foot to steer the boat down river. Her mess of red hair was fluttering lightly in the breeze.

"She goes into the boiler room where Mr. ferryman is locked up, and she takes the knife he used to do all the surgeries and fucking cut his head open like it was a God damn egg or something! I tell you; all sorts of ugly stuff came out that fucker's dome. And the best part of it is she had to jump on his bed to do it! She's so damn short she couldn't reach otherwise! Isn't that something?" She threw her head back and let her bark of a laugh fill the air.

Charon shrugged and resumed his glowering at the water below. The two of them were at the top of the boat, waiting to anchor up at Pilgrim's Landing, which would take another ten minutes or so to reach. Besides him, a grubby Siberian husky was curled up on the damp floorboards, sleeping as the Duchess Gambit swayed over the gentle waves.

Ever since he'd gotten out of Underworld, Charon hated being cooped up, so he'd denied an offer to sleep in Nadine's bed while they were traveling. Unfortunately for him, she took this as an invitation to talk to him the whole way there while her good buddy Glenda, ever so sleep-deprived, spent the entire voyage snoring on her cot.

At first Charon didn't really mind. Glenda herself talked up a storm from time to time. But Nadine never _stopped_ talking.

"So I haven't asked you yet, where'd you meet Glenda?" The red head asked coyly.

It took Charon a minute to realize the blabbermouth was actually asking him a question, and he glared up at her with confusion on his rotted face. "Huh?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "I asked where you met that crazy bitch Glenda. She came here alone last time."

"D.C." He replied gruffly, turning away from her.

Nadine rolled her eyes. "No shit you met her in D.C. But don't you have a story behind it? Save her from super mutants or something? Or vice versa?" She let out an irritatingly high pitched giggle as she looked him over. "You don't seem like a damsel in distress type."

Charon casted her an irritated look, but answered nonetheless. "I was working for some shit head in a bar in Underworld, and then one day, in walks Glenda with two thousand caps and buys my contract."

"Contract? You some kind of male prostitute or somethin'?" Nadine's face told him she was being one hundred percent serious.

Charon groaned and decided enough was enough. He pushed himself away from the railing and stretched his arms. "I'm going to wake her up," he grunted, taking heavy steps down the stairs.

Nadine frowned and glanced up river. "Why? We aren't there yet."

_Like I care_, Charon thought irritably. He could only endure so much chatter for so long.

On the bottom level of the Duchess Gambit, two cabins were placed parallel to one another, both equally as small and claustrophobic, though Glenda's didn't have a boiler next to her cot. Charon punched back the squeaky screen door and entered the passenger cabin. There was an array of old pre-war posters pinned up on the wall, as well as a trunk full of nothing in particular. The only thing useful in the room was the cot, which was occupied by Charon's five-foot, two-inch _monster_.

He prodded her shoulder with the barrel of his gun. "Hey, get up we're almost there."

Glenda didn't move a muscle or open her eyes. "Has the boat stopped yet?"

"Does it feel like it's stopped?"

"Then leave me the fuck alone and let me sleep."

Charon scowled. If there was one thing he hated about Glenda the most, it was her _charm_.

He cocked his gun and put the barrel against the back of her head, where it sank into her thick, otherworldly tresses of black, curly hair.

Glenda sighed and reached a hand around to shove the gun away from her head. "That's not funny anymore, Charon," she said in a groggy voice.

"It never was meant to be funny." He said without humor.

"Please go away, I don't like being awake on boats."

Charon let his shoulders fall and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, that bitch out there has been talking so much, if she talks anymore, I will honestly cut her tongue off. My ears are about to fall off."

"You don't have any ears," Glenda groaned into her arm, which was substituting as a pillow.

He ignored her and continued. "If I have to keep listening to her, I can't be held accountable for what I do."

Glenda let out a particularly long sigh. It dragged on for so long, Charon was certain she was doing it on purpose.

"_Fine_." Glenda barked suddenly, breaking her sigh and making Charon jump. She sat up in a wild storm of dark hair and denim, and stretched her short arms out high over her head with a gracious yawn.

Charon grumbled under his breath as he turned on his heel and started for the screen door, but Glenda snapped her arm out and grabbed him by the belt, tugging him backwards.

"Oh no you don't," she said with a queasy glare. "I need you close by in case I collapse."

The ghoul rolled his eyes. "You mean in case you need to throw up and I just happen to be a close target?"

She flashed her sage green eyes at him and whacked him on the shoulder. "I'm not going to throw up on you, _Jesus Christ_..." She got onto her feet slowly, using him as a support the whole way. Her knees wobbled under her weight, and her fair skin was starting to turn green as the Duchess Gambit swayed in every direction as the river waves pushed it too and fro.

"Oh God I hate boats..." She groaned. She let go of Charon and stood on her own. Glenda was not at all an average looking woman in the wastes. Born and raised in the vault, she had a much better sense of hygiene than the average settler or traveler. She was hardly taller than five feet and two inches, and her soft, heart-shaped face looked strangely mismatched with its gentle shape and her sharp, uncaring eyes. Her thick, inky black hair fell to the middle of her back in swirling curls, and her pale green eyes were wide and almond-shaped. She had arched eyebrows which were thick and uncared for, one of which was pierced twice with two rusted steel rings.

Glenda was a small, round thing. She wasn't skinny or overweight, but her soft curves continued to add to her contradictory look. As of then, she was only wearing her white tank top (which was splattered with old, stained blood) and her jeans, which were tucked into black, knee-high boots that laced up the front. Her size prevented her from wearing more protective clothing, such as any leather or combat equipment she came across in her travels. So she stuck to wearing mercenary clothing, even if she had to custom tailor it with a pair of scissors every now and then so she wasn't tripping over her hem lines.

"Remind me to hike back to D.C." She said sullenly, pushing past Charon and gathering her things by the door. A small leather duffle bag contained most of her life possessions, and she pulled from it her denim jacket, which was too long for her and hung around her knees. She belted around her waist a holster for her magnum, and she slung her assault rifle over her shoulder so its strap crossed her torso. She grabbed her shotgun and then tossed the duffle bag to Charon.

"Carry that, will you?" She asked without looking at him.

He grinded his teeth together and pulled it over his shoulder. Charon was the exact opposite of Glenda in almost every way. For one, he was at least six feet and five inches, causing him to tower over her whenever they stood together. Sometimes he enjoyed that fact that he could easily squish her like a bug. His thinning red hair and grotesque, irradiated skin just made her look squeaky clean in comparison, and because he was a Ghoul, he really didn't have much need for anything but ammo and the occasional snack. So he was usually left carrying her fucking bags.

_Also, Glenda is a fucking nut job_, he thought to himself, no for the first time.

The two of them left the cabin just in time for the docks of Pilgrim's Landing to come in sight through the thinning fog. Dogmeat had awoken from his nap and was running around Glenda in circles as she pulled her mane of black hair into a ponytail. Nadine was coming down the stairs.

"Ah, finally awake are we darling?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

Glenda shrugged and tried to keep from looking out at the water. She really couldn't stand being on boats, and the green pastiness of her face was enough to give her away.

"Yeah I remember the first time I took you back to D.C. and you kept hurling over the railings," Nadine threw her head back and let out the same obnoxious laugh from earlier, her shoulders bobbing up and down with some unseen humor. Charon felt the sudden urge to slice them off. "Man, I ain't _never_ seen anybody get that sick."

Charon took a wary step backwards as Glenda suddenly dry heaved and clasped her hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold her sick back. However, the attempt was fruitless, and she charged towards the edge of the boat and vomited over the edge. Nadine laughed even harder, and Charon pressed his palm to his forehead. Sometimes he had serious problems imagining that this girl was really the Capital Wasteland's "Lone Wanderer." She couldn't even control her seasickness.

"So, Gleny-Glen, whatcha doing back in Point Lookout anyways? And who's this handsome male-prostitute you dragged along?"

Glenda stood back up from the railing and held her hand out to stop Charon from gunning the red head down. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and groaned. "Ugh...Thought I'd meet up with the Tribals and see what I've been missing. Or maybe see if Desmond wants a cup of tea."

Nadine guffawed again, and, to everyone's surprise, stepped forward and slapped Charon on the back with a cheery smile. The Ghoul's eyes popped and Glenda dived to steal his shotgun before he saw red. "You better watch out there Charon, Glenda here has a fondness for Ghouls of all shapes and sizes."

Charon shot her a warning look and stepped away from her so she wasn't touching him. "Really?" He said in mock interest, looking at Glenda was his usual scowl. His companion, however, was too busy dry heaving again to notice the exchange. Or maybe she was faking it. He certainly wouldn't put it past her.

"Yes sir, told me all about her little adventure here at Point Lookout the last time she came. Helped out some old ghoul up by the old mansion kill off some disembodied brain!"

Glenda continued to "dry heave." Charon could see she was definitely faking it.

"Seriously, though" Nadine said, climbing the stairs again to guide the Duchess Gambit to the docks, which were in clear view now. "Why you back, Gleny?"

"Just looking for something to do, Nadine," Glenda said, leaning her back against the railing and closing her eyes. "Call it a vacation from doing everybody favors in D.C."

"You should bring Charon to the mother of all punga fruit and get him high off that shit." Nadine called down jokingly.

Charon crossed his arms, glaring at Glenda, "I'd rather keep my brain, thank you."

"Here we are kiddos," Nadine said, bringing the ferry to a stop in front of the only standing dock. The amusement park creaked eerily with age.

"Oh thank God," Glenda groaned, nearly crawling off the boat and onto the less-than-sturdy dock. At least it was more solid than the boat, which was being rocked back and forth for the shore waves.

With a curt whistle, Charon got Dogmeat off the boat and lugged Glenda's bag off with him. Nadine descended down the stairs to bid them farewell.

"Have fun you guys," she said, "have any idea where you're heading? I don't think Desmond is still in the area, so if you were actually thinking of visiting the bastard-"

"Not in my life," Glenda said sincerely, looking repulsed and holding up her hand to stop Nadine from saying anything more. "I only took his side before because I don't trust anything or anyone who doesn't have a body."

Nadine punched Glenda in the shoulder and laughed. "Good thinking, girl. Well have fun. If you're interested, there's another mansion out that way," she pointed in the opposite direction of Desmond's old hideout, which was blown up by his very own failsafe. "Might have some cash hidden away somewhere."

Charon saw the unfortunate spark in Glenda's green eyes, and knew far too easily that, no matter what the odds, she would find that mansion.

She brought a finger to her chin in thought. "Anyone live there anymore?" She asked.

"Not that I know of."

"Then let's go," she barked at Charon, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him behind her. Dogmeat followed with enthusiasm, his tail wagging at amazing speeds. Even he was glad to stretch his legs and get off that awful boat.

* * *

><p>The shoreline of Point Lookout was something Glenda had hardly had time to enjoy during her previous visit, which was spent primarily near Desmond's mansion (<em>well, not really <em>his_ mansion_, she thought glumly), and the foal swamps infested with migrating feral ghouls and the filthy locals. She spat on the ground at the thought of them. There wasn't much radiation in Point Lookout, compared to D.C., so Glenda had always figured the ghouls had wandered in from up north.

Now, however, she was surprised to find the soggy sand under her feet and the misty air quite relaxing. The foul stench from the swamps was much less potent near the river. Because of the lack of severe radiation, Mirelurks weren't as common near the water as they were in the Capital Wasteland.

The last time she'd gotten off that blasted ferry, she'd immediately gotten swept up in Desmond's conflict with the Tribals and that strange scientist who had long ago separated his brain from his body. Just thinking about the freak gave Glenda the shivers. This time, however, she wanted to explore and look for anything she could sell back North. Possibly find enough caps to pay off that growing debt she owed Moriarty up in Megaton before the Irish slime ball but a price on her head.

She was walking in front of Charon, watching over Dogmeat, who was running around up further. She didn't want to let him go out of sight, just in case something were to attack him while she wasn't looking. The Siberian husky was probably the closest thing Glenda had to a "love of her life" sort of thing. The thought made her unconsciously glance back at Charon.

"So, you're fond of ghouls of all shapes and sizes?" Charon asked suddenly, when their eyes met.

Glenda raised an eyebrow, surprised. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" She asked sharply.

Charon shrugged and looked out at the darkening horizon. His sudden display of guarded emotion was rather...awkward. Usually Charon never spoke to her about things like that.

She spun on her heel and stopped him from going any further. She held up her hands defensively and said calmly, although with an irritated tone, "okay, for the love of God, please don't tell me you're actually _jealous_ about what she said on that boat."

He stared down at her for a long moment, his usual scowl deepening as his milky white eyes narrowed. Then, to her amazement, he grumbled, "You fucked Roy Phillips."

Glenda looked at him as if he had slapped her. "Roy? You're honestly bringing up _Roy_? Did you forget he tried to kill me?"

The Ghoul closed his eyes patiently, as if her rebuttal was nothing but a childish excuse. "You gave Gob a-"

"Oh for fuck- Gob is Moriarty's _slave_!"

He glared at her. "You fucked Winthrop, Quinn, you even did that druggie _Murphy_."

Glenda threw her hands into the air and started walking again. "Oh my God, I can't believe you are really talking about this." She walked further ahead of him, mumbling incoherently under her breath as she did so. The sand beneath her feet was clingy as she stomped away, making her stomp look ridiculous. Charon growled incoherently under his breath and followed.

Suddenly, Glenda came to a stop. She went rigid, on guard, and Charon frowned.

"What is it?" He asked quietly.

Glenda nodded at the footprints in the sand, which were side-by-side with Dogmeat's prints. They curved down a small slope of sand up the shore and seemed to turn and follow the canine. Charon narrowed his eyes at them, and then scanned the area.

He tapped her in the shoulder and nodded up a ways on the beach. A figure was bending over and petting Dogmeat, whose tail was wagging furiously. The mist made it difficult to see who it was.

"Hey!" Glenda called, charging forward and cocking her shotgun.

The figure, apparently female, looked up and took a step back from the dog, who followed her with his tongue hanging from his mouth.

Whoever she was, she was tall, with tan, grubby skin and dark brown hair that was slicked back and greasy. Seeing as how everyone in the world nowadays had dreadful hygiene, Glenda wasn't very turned off by this. What she was turned off by, however, was that she wasn't acting hostile. This always bothered her, because you can trust a raider, feral ghoul, or super-mutant to always charge and attack. Morally conscious people, however, Glenda actually had to try and figure out.

"Please don't shoot me," the woman said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I was just petting him."

Glenda marched right up to her and made sure the woman knew her finger was still on the trigger, but she lowered her weapon. "Don't you know it's dangerous to pet animals you don't know?"

The woman seemed confused. "He was friendly to me. He saw that I meant him no harm."

Charon and Glenda exchanged raised eyebrows and then turned back to her. "Are you a pacifist?" Glenda asked.

"I am, unless the situation calls for me to be aggressive," the woman said with a kind smile. "I do my best to make a place my home, and not a bad memory."

"You live around here then?"

"Temporarily, yes," she said kindly, showing no signs of hostility. "I'm a missionary from the west. I came to spread my faith respectfully."

Glenda gave her a skeptical look. "I've never heard of a missionary around here before," she said with a cynical expression. "Probably because the East Coast doesn't have any sort of faith left, except, of course, faith in a gun." She patted her shotgun affectionately.

The woman held out her hand. "Marcella," she said. Glenda took hold of it and shook it.

"I'm Glenda, and this corpse here" she nodded her head towards her solemn-looking companion, "is Charon."

Marcella turned to the Ghoul and offered her hand. He looked at it suspiciously, but took hold of it when he caught Glenda's eye. The woman seemed to be completely comfortable around ghouls, and neither pitied or feared them.

"So, Marcella," Glenda said, giving up the tough-girl ruse and relaxing her hand on her gun. "What...faith do you belong to?"

"I long ago gave up the pretense of naming my faith," she replied, with a spiritual glow in her eyes. "I look to the lord for the salvation of the world, praying each day and hoping my faith will spread and perhaps change some part of this desolate place we live in."

Glenda raised an eyebrow as if she were impressed, nodding in understanding. Charon could see she obviously was not. "You really think the world can change because of faith?"

"Nothing can change all at once." Marcella said, her smile falling ever so slightly. "I'm only one person, but with every man, woman, and child I can help achieve enlightenment, we are one step closer to bringing peace back to our wastelands."

"I guess I'm just not into the idea of religion in general," Glenda said with a heavy sigh. She looked up at Charon, whose towering figure cast a shadow over her tiny frame. "What do you think, Charon?" She asked.

Charon glared at her, still angry from their small fight a few moments earlier. He was never a very open person, and Glenda knew this. The question made him tense up, and when Marcella looked at him eagerly, he scowled and grew curt.

"I don't have any opinion on the matter," he said blandly.

Marcella frowned at him. "It's impossible not to have an opinion."

He grunted and shrugged his shoulders. "That's just how it is."

Glenda frowned at him, and then looked back to Marcella. "I don't suppose you've got any food or ammo we could swipe?"

"Of course," the missionary said with a smile, "not much, but I'm currently residing in the old disaster relief outpost upriver." She turned and pointed through the fog, where a cluster of three or four tents was silhouetted against the mist. She looked over her shoulder and gestured for them to follow with her head. "Come on, I'll lead you there." She started walking, and Charon and Glenda followed suit, with Dogmeat bounding around the three of them excitedly.

The relief outpost was defiantly old, and obviously had been out of business for a long time. Marcella explained to them on the short walk up the grimy beach that it had been set up before the war to help those infected with the New Plague. An old terminal had files and journal entries explaining the "social disease" in a rather eccentric and nonsensical way, and Marcella claimed that the only useful information stored on it was the hostility of the locals in the swamps, and that anybody who lived in Point Lookout prior to the outbreak was safe from their violent natures.

Glenda, upon hearing this, was quite concerned for her well being. She figured Charon was fine because of his irradiated DNA. "Are you saying there's some two hundred year-old disease floating around out there?" She asked as Marcella held open the flap of the center tent for them to enter.

"It's a possibility. But you say you've been here before, right? For a long period of time?"

"Yeah," Glenda said, thinking about her wacky adventures with Desmond and the Tribals, "for about a week."

She smiled and brushed it aside. "You should be fine, then. It's probably harmless now anyways, what with all the bombs dropping when it was at its peak." Marcella spread her arms wide and presented them her abode. "This is where I live, for now."

The tent was spacious and wide, with a high peak and a hard, dirt floor. There was a bed cot on one side, besides a desk containing a recently rebooted terminal that was grimy with age. Underneath the terminal desk, a safe was hidden from view.

"Never been fond of tents," Glenda said, looking around analytically. "They don't feel very secure." Marcella was bending over to unlock the safe, where she pulled a pack of ammo for Glenda's assault rifle, and two old boxes of sugar bombs.

"This is all I can spare," she said humbly, tossing them. Charon was just about to rip open the box of cereal, when Glenda snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it in her bag. When he glared at her, she shrugged and said, "Murph."

The ghoul glared daggers at her. He made a mental note to kill Murphy while he and his fucking bodyguard were high.

Marcella gave Glenda an analytical look as she zipped the bag up again, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.

"So, Marcella, you spend your life traveling and trying to enlighten people, am I right?" Glenda slapped a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. "Is it the life you want?"

Marcella nodded, a look of gentle happiness spreading across of her face. "Yes, I find a great deal of happiness when I change a person's life."

"Then what do you feel when you don't change a person's life?" Asked Glenda.

For a moment, Marcella considered the question, and then she said slowly, "I feel like I let them down."

Glenda shrugged and looked outside, watching the murky water wash up on the gritty sand. "Maybe they just didn't want to be changed."

"Why are you not interested in faith, Glenda?" Marcella asked, leaning forward and briefly glancing at Charon, as if he might provide some insight. He, however, was standing stone still in the corner, sulking over his stolen snack, among other things.

Glenda stood up and slung her back over her shoulder, in a gesture of parting ways. It was obvious she had not intended to stay for a philosophical discussion. "After all I've seen in my years, Marcella," she said matter-of-factly, "I don't think God really plays a part in all of it."

Without breaking eye contact, Marcella leaned closer, her grimy hair falling in clumps around her shoulder. There was a worried glint in her eyes. "People like you are the most vulnerable to darker faiths."

Glenda narrowed her eyes, not missing the warning in Marcella's soft voice. "What are you talking about?"

Marcella suddenly looked very grave, almost hateful. "These swamps aren't only swarming with ghouls, locals, and Tribals. It has been home to a far more sinister thing for many years now, _centuries_, to be precise. When you leave this tent, you should tread carefully."

Charon exchanged a confused look with Glenda, who was becoming very uncomfortable. He sensed her desire to leave, and awkwardly cleared his throat, drawing Marcella's intense eyes away from her and onto him. The woman snapped out of her sudden attitude changed and returned to her kind demeanor. Although she still looked worried.

"We should probably get going," he said to both of them.

Marcella stood to see them off, and Glenda happily stepped out into the cool air to greet an excited Dogmeat, who had been happily sniffing a dead, rotting Mirelurk that had washed up on shore in the recent week or two.

As Glenda walked ahead, Marcella hurriedly grabbed Charon by the arm and looked at him earnestly.

"I have a strong insight, Charon," she said kindly, as if they had been friends for years, "and a strong instinct to see when trouble is coming. I could tell the two of you will be bringing trouble soon when I first saw you walking down the beach…"

The Ghoul gave her hand a sharp look, where she still held tightly onto him. She did not let go, however, and continued. "I can tell that you are stronger than Glenda in many ways, and that's why you stay with her, to protect her."

He glared at her, "I stay with Glenda because I _have_ to stay with Glenda." He said defensively.

She smiled, "I think you stay for other reasons," she said softly. Then she frowned sadly. "A terrible struggle is coming your way, Charon, for both you and Glenda. She'll need you more than ever to survive it, and I don't mean physically."

Charon narrowed his eyes.

"I know who both of you are," she said quietly. "Glenda is the Lone Wandered. And you are the Ghoul has been with her since the very beginning. I've heard many of your stories, but none of them will be like this."

"I'll keep that in mind." Charon said sharply, and she finally let him go. Without even lingering to glare at her longer, he swiftly walked away to rejoin Glenda, who was impatiently waiting for him out on the beach.

"What was that about?" She demanded as he passed her.

"Nothing." He said in his usual growl. "She was just telling us to take care."

"She's a nut job," Glenda said under her breath, looking back at the tents as they shrank in the distance,

Charon did not verbally agree with her, but he defiantly wasn't Marcella's biggest fan. The area on his arm where she grabbed him would bruise by the end of the day.


	2. Blackhall Manor

**A/N:**

_Here's chapter two. I finished revising it sooner than I thought._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Two<strong>

_Blackhall Manor_

Despite having the genuinely uncomfortable encounter with Marcella, Glenda's positive spirits could not be downed as they continued to trek through Point Lookout, in the direction of the mansion Nadine mentioned earlier. Not by seasickness, religious encouragement, or Charon's sudden display of jealousy.

Charon, of course, was his usual unhappy and stony self, especially after Marcella's cryptic warning, but even so, he was glad to be off the boat and out on his feet again. There was a certain excitement involved with heading out into a land you weren't familiar with. Plus, he was incapable of enjoying an enclosed space. He couldn't stand sitting in a tent, on a boat, or in a room with no windows. It reminded him of his long time in underworld, standing in the same corner every day, seeing daylight once every month. He much rather preferred being out in the open, where he could see the sky and feel reassured at the fact that he was not confined by walls or railings.

Dogmeat, of course, was just overwhelmed with joy that he could bolt across a glum, sandy beach then a hard concrete road going through D.C. The old dog was growing feeble with age nowadays; a fact Charon sometimes noticed Glenda worrying over when she thought nobody was looking.

"I wonder if there will be smoke or something," Glenda wondered aloud, gazing across the horizon in search for some sign of life. "Desmond's mansion had smoke coming off it last time. It was easy to spot."

Charon grunted in response, his stomach growling as he tried to ignore his hunger. Ghouls really didn't need to eat as much as smoothskins, but that didn't mean he didn't get irritable when he was hungry. Unfortunately for him, Glenda heard the rumbling of his stomach and threw her hands up in the air with exasperation. "Jesus, I'm sorry, alright? But you can't eat the sugar bombs!"

The Ghoul cast a nasty look in her direction. "I didn't say anything about the sugar bombs," he retorted.

"But you were thinking it." She said, brandishing a finger at him. Then she started to look around, searching for something.

"What are you looking for?" Charon asked.

"This," Glenda replied with a grunt, as she kneeled down besides a tree and plucked a very unappealing plant that grew by its roots. She stood back up and brushed off her knees, holding out the thick, acorn-shaped fruit towards him. "Eat it." She said.

Charon gave it a long, meaningful look. It was brown and secreted a disgusting fluid from its leathery skin, and…was it pulsating? He raised one eyebrow at her and scowled. "I think I'll pass." He said.

She stared him down. "_Eat it_." She ordered, more threateningly than he would have liked.

Hesitantly, he reached out and took the plant from her hand. It was sticky against his sensitive, flayed skin, but was light weight and felt hollow.

"What is this?" He asked, as he gave it a sniff and grimaced at the bitter smell that was returned.

Glenda was plucking her own, and weighing it with her hand as if she were shopping for the best pick. Now that Charon looked around, he noticed just how plentiful the strange fruit was.

"Punga Fruit," she answered, taking a hearty bite out of her own and revealing a spongy, gray, fleshy pit that was more juice than meat. "Looks and smell rotten, but tastes kind of like an orange," she added, wiping the corners of her mouth.

Unconvinced, Charon took a deep breath and tore a chunk off of his own helping. He was greeted with a cool, citrus taste that made him feel healthier than he probably was. He looked at Glenda, slightly astonished, and didn't even mind that she was looking back with an I-told-you-so expression. The skin of the punga fruit was thinner than it appeared, and melted on his tongue.

"Is this irradiated?" He asked, taking another bite.

She finished hers off quickly, and tossed the remaining skin and stem off to the side. "No, cool huh? It actually _decreases_ irradiation, sort of like a natural-grown Rad-Away." Glenda picked one last fruit and tore it open, handing it out for Dogmeat to sniff and lick nervously, before eating it like a wild animal.

After the strange introduction to punga fruit, Charon could say he was feeling inexplicably better, and even went as far as to let Glenda sling her short arm around his waist as they walked. It was almost comical how short she was compared to him. The top of her head didn't even reach his shoulder.

"So what do you think we'll find there?" She asked, more to herself than to him. "Treasure? Something good we could sell back in D.C.?"

"Probably nothing." Charon grunted. "I'm sure others have looted the place before us."

"Nah," she said, as if she hadn't heard him, "no I think we'll find something great there. I can feel it in my bones. Maybe it's not treasure, but its _trouble_."

The Ghoul glanced down at her and frowned deeper than was usual. Yeah, _trouble_. Everywhere they went they got into trouble, that much Marcella was right about. But it wasn't as spiritual as the woman made it seem. The reason simply was that Glenda _lived_ for trouble, and was drawn to it like a moth to a flame. Adventure, mystery, and excitement were her reason for living, ever since she stepped out of Vault 101.

Glenda had met Charon soon after her departure from home, after she had run several errands for Three Dog in order to find information on her father. Somehow she managed to come across Underworld, where the rumors of Charon's obedience and unswayable loyalty had goaded her into buying his contract. The ghoul couldn't be sure where she had come across two thousand caps, but she paid of Ahzrukal and took him out of Underworld. At first Charon was positive she had done it out of fear; Glenda was not the most street-smart kid back then, she was weak, vulnerable, and unaccustomed to life in the Capital Wasteland. She needed a body guard.

As they walked up the beach onto the solid ground, Charon couldn't help but reminisce. He tried to remember when Glenda had changed from the excited, naïve girl in the wastes to a care-free, moral-less, and apathetic brat who cared for nothing but keeping herself entertained. He frowned, and realized exactly when that change had happened; when her father had died.

After what felt like half hour of walking, the trio finally caught sight of a very large structure in the distance, hidden behind a thinning cluster of trees. It was old and rickety, with chipped paint and a caving roof, but it was still standing.

The lights were on inside.

"Do you think anyone's in there?" Glenda asked, gazing into a dark window and rubbing the greasy smears away to get a better look.

Charon was on his guard again. He peered through another window himself, his combat shotgun ready to blow if he saw the slightest bit of movement. Dogmeat as well joined in, pacing around his master and the ghoul protectively.

"I don't see anyone!" Glenda groaned, after looking through the last window on their side of the mansion. "So why are the lights on?"

"These aren't the only rooms in the house," Charon said calmly, but with a hint of exasperation in his throaty growl.

She pouted, and then cocked her sawed-off with a mischievous grin. "Then let's go check it out." She proclaimed. Before Charon could even reply, she was marching up the sagging front steps and bursting through the door.

The inside of the mansion was miserable and old. Everything was creaking and aged. Books were tossed around on the ground, ready to crumble with even the faintest breeze, and dust billowed up from their feet with every step.

Glenda took the lead, with Charon close behind and Dogmeat even closer. It was impossible to keep their footsteps quiet, for every board on the floor was cursed with an echoing creak, but they sneaked anyways, their guns at the ready. The front room was full of old furniture and boxes that Glenda began sifting through, looking for caps or anything. The most she found was an old bottle of unopened Nukacola. It was a start, at least.

They moved on, rounding a corner and entering a large, prestigious room with a grand staircase leading up to the second floor. Glenda paused and gazed around, feeling lightly overwhelmed. She jumped a foot into the air when an old, throaty voice called out to them, "you can stop sneaking around now."

Glenda was so startled she accidently fired her shotgun, missing the man's head by a centimeter, and blowing a hole in his bookcase behind them. Strangely enough, the old man didn't even flinch, and Glenda stared awe-struck as Charon descended upon her and wrenched the gun from her hands.

"You idiot!" He snarled.

Her empty hands brought her back to reality, and she turned on him, momentarily forgetting what had just occurred. "Gimme back my shotgun, you stupid corpse!"

"Maybe you can get it back when you learn how to keep your finger off the trigger!" Charon shot back, holding it high out of her reach. But height was no problem for Glenda, who tackled him to the ground instead and wrestled with him to get it back.

The two kicked up clouds of old dust and made Dogmeat growl and howl with anxiety.

Charon was much stronger than Glenda physically, but the dust was gathering in his eyes and nose and she started coughing. She managed to wrench the gun from his hands and roll off him before he even knew what had happened.

Soon, both were back on their feet again, glaring at one another and brushing themselves off. The old man hadn't moved an inch, and was still looking at them the same as he had when they arrived. Glenda remembered him and gave him a bizarre look.

The three of them stared at one another for a long time, and Glenda started to fidget nervously. The books she had blasted away were still falling from the shelf. Bits of shredded paper were still falling gently to the floor like snow.

"This your place?" Glenda asked after a moment of awkward silence. "Pretty run down, don't you think?"

The old man smiled. He was pale, with wispy gray hair and an aged face. He wore clothing from an era of civilian comfort, before the bombs dropped, and he sat in a wheel chair, next to a pair of gas containers. His khaki pants and argyle sweater vest made him seem ancient.

"I'm not really in the condition to do housework anymore," the man said, gesturing to the opposite chair besides him. "Please, sit down and talk with me." His eyes held hers stoically.

Forgetting about their wrestling match, Glenda exchanged a semi-nervous look with Charon, who slowly shook his head, silently telling her he didn't like the feeling he got. Glenda, of course, did not listen to him, and instead took a few strides and sat herself down in the plush chair so she was facing the old man.

"I'm Glenda," she said politely, holding out a hand.

"The name is Obadiah Blackhall," said the old man, shaking her hand tight enough to make her grimace, with a smile on his face. "And this is Blackhall Manor." He gestured all around him, indicating the mansion. "The home of my family and ancestors."

Charon wanted to stay and watch them, but he left the two to talk, although he didn't wander too far. He started roaming some of the closer rooms, trying to see anything unusual, because, whether Glenda wanted to toy with the old man or not, he wasn't comfortable here. He felt uneasy and wouldn't be good until they got back outside.

There was something…something that made gooseflesh aroused on his patchy skin. He couldn't tell what it was. He felt as if there was something clawing at him from beneath his feet.

"These days," Obadiah said sadly, "nobody is willing to just sit and talk anymore. Those inbred _heathens_ out in the swamps don't attack me because they know I am local, but they are impossible to converse with, and their smell carries for miles.

"But I can tell you are a well-mannered young lady," (Charon covered up a foul laugh by coughing, and Glenda glared at the wall he was hiding behind), "and you take pride in keeping clean, don't you?"

"I was raised in a vault," Glenda explained, looking at her immaculate fingernails, and her skin, which was soft and clear of any dirt. "Keeping clean was mandatory."

"I see, a _vault_. So you are uneducated about the lives of those who survived the war?"

She raised her eyebrows, insulted, "I am _not_ uneducated. I've been out of the Vault for a long time. I've been all over the East Coast. I helped purify the water in D.C., and I was involved in freeing the slaves up in Pittsburgh. I've been here before as well, I stopped the Tribals from de-braining any more poor souls who came into these swamps." While her lack of humility was overwhelming, Obadiah didn't seem the least bit concerned.

"I see, so you've seen much of the world, have you? I see you travel with a Ghoul."

Glenda looked over her shoulder, as if afraid Charon was listening in (which he was), but he wasn't in sight so she shrugged and turned back to her host. "Charon is his name. We've been together a long time, ever since I first crawled out of Vault 101 back in D.C."

"I have met many ghouls over the years, travelers who stop by to try and raid my home. None of them seem fond of _normal_ people."

Charon scoffed to himself, giving a nasty look at the bookcase separating him from the two of them. He heard that tone often in the voices of bigots.

"Charon and I have a mutual relationship," Glenda said calmly, "If you want to get technical, I own his contract."

Obadiah smiled a little too warmly at that statement. "So he is your slave."

Glenda narrowed her eyes. "He is not a slave. He's a gun for hire. If he wanted to he could blow my brains out when my back is turned and be free of me."

"Seeing as how you're still here, head intact, I would guess you and him are fond of one another." Obadiah said.

"Listen, old man, I don't mind talking to you but could we keep the subject off-"

"Are you lovers?" Obadiah interrupted with a raised brow.

Glenda's face flushed, and she looked away. "Maybe that's not the term we should use…"

"What my point is," Obadiah said, abandoning the question much to her relief, "is that you are _not_ a bigot," (_unlike you_, Charon thought bitterly), "and you see both sides of the world."

Glenda nodded suspiciously, "I suppose."

"Then perhaps you would be willing to help me with something? Seeing as how I can't do much in the state I'm in," he gestured towards his wheelchair, "I've been hoping for awhile now a friend would pass through."

"What's the something?" Glenda inquired, her interest spiking.

Obadiah smiled. "Several weeks ago, a precious book was stolen from me. It was an heirloom to the Blackhall family, something that will indefinably be lost once I, the last Blackhall, dies." He sighed sadly. "I want to have the book in my possession until I pass, but those…_barbarians_ from the swamps stole it from me." There was venom in his voice.

"Why would they steal a book?" Glenda asked, finding the idea to be ludicrous. Books were the least valuable commodities in the Wasteland.

"Such things are out of my understanding," Obadiah said, waving the question away, "but perhaps they found it _pretty_. It is the only thing I own that looks to have any value."

Putting a hand to her chin and stroking it like a man would stroke a beard, Glenda considered the prospect for a moment. "What's in it for me if I get it back?" She asked, looking at him skeptically. "I'm not really in the business of doing things for free."

"Fair enough," Obadiah said kindly. "I will pay you six hundred caps if you successfully return the book to me _unscathed_."

Without missing a beat, Glenda held out her hand to seal the deal. "Sounds good, Mr. Blackhall. Now, I just need a lead."

As he shook her hand feebly, he said, "I heard some of the swampfolk who took the book talking about returning to their ritual grounds, which is west of here."

Glenda was suddenly excited. While she may have been a stubborn girl with little self-restraint, she was a pro at getting things back, as long as the price was high enough.

"Don't worry, Mr. Blackhall, I'll get your book back."

She tried to take her hand back, but the old man's grip suddenly went iron. She gasped, watching, as the tips of her fingers grew red with blood. Obadiah stared at her with intense, black eyes.

"Do not allow the book to be harmed, or I will not pay."

Glenda pulled at her hand, wrenching it free. "Alright, Jesus." She said, rubbing her palm. "I won't scratch the book."

"No pages are to be torn, ripped, or dropped in water." He said warningly.

Glenda smiled impolitely at him and left Obadiah with fair words and went to go find Charon. She was not happy the man had turned weird on her near the end. She looked through all of the nearby rooms for her ghoulish friend, but ended up finding him sitting on a very unstable porch swing, looking very contemplative.

"What's up with you?" Glenda asked, tossing her thick, curly black hair over her shoulder. "Didn't feel like staying to talk?"

Charon grunted a "_whatever_," and stood up. "Friendly guy?"

"Nice enough to offer us six hundred caps."

The Ghoul gave her a funny look, a mix of irritation, confusion, and (was she seeing things?) worry. "To get a _book_ back?"

"Oh, did you hear that part?" She wondered, putting a finger to her chin and looking unnecessarily sly. "What _else_ did you hear?"

"That Obadiah Blackhall is the last remaining member of a whack job family," he said without taking her hint.

Glenda was about to toss her head back and say something cocky, when she realized exactly what he said. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He took in an irritated breath, hesitated, and then explained, "that missionary from the beach _followed_ us here."

A moment of silence passed as the words formed meaning in Glenda's mind. Not being praised for her memory or perception, it took a couple of seconds before she realized whom Charon was referring to.

"That crazy bitch? Why the fuck did she follow us?"

Charon explained, "She said she was afraid we'd visit Blackhall Manor, and when I saw her standing outside I came out to confront her. She warned me about accepting any favor that the "old man" living in there asked for."

Glenda put her hands on her voluptuous hips. "Oh _really_, and why's that?"

The Ghoul shrugged, "because apparently he's from a family of occult worshipers who possess some evil book called the…uh…Kribick." He shifted his weight and adverted his opaque eyes. He couldn't remember the name of the book Marcella had given, but it didn't matter, Glenda already seemed to know.

"The _Krivbeknih_?" She whispered, astonished. Charon nodded. Glenda tossed her head back and laughed out loud, too loudly. Somewhere in the distance, Charon heard a swamp ghoul growl. "What a loud of horse shit! That's like saying he wanted us to find the Holy Grail!"

"What's the Holy Grail?"

"Never mind that, but stop and think. Obadiah just offered us_ six hundred_ caps! For a fucking book! What did Marcella want for it?"

He shrugged, "she didn't want it. All she said was that it's vital we give it to _her_ instead of Obadiah."

"Fuck that, it's just a book. What can he do with it that's so dangerous?" Glenda paused and seemed to consider a distant thought. "Actually, we could just take the book when we find it and sell it for _more_." An impish glint glittered in her sea foam eyes.

Charon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Don't be stupid. He obviously wants it for sentimental value. It's probably worthless."

Glenda stuck her chin up pompously. "Fine, spoil my fun, Charon. But this will be a walk in the park. Apparently the Swampfolk stole it, and they're too retarded to aim properly anyways."

Once more, Glenda took the lead in their new adventure, marching through the brush as if she were an explorer. After two steps, Charon suddenly asked, "where are we going?"

She flashed him a genuinely excited smile, "to the ritual grounds!"

* * *

><p>Obadiah Blackhall stared out his window, watching the girl and the ghoul set off into the swamps. He had faith that this time his choice had been well made. The girl was foolhardy, but strong. She was a good selection.<p>

Absentmindedly, his eyes drifted towards the path that lead to the beach. The mist was still thick, clinging to the midday air. But he saw a figure walking away from the house, the figure of a woman. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder before sprinting off towards the water.

Obadiah narrowed his beady eyes. "It's you again, Marcella," he said to himself quietly.

He stood from his wheel chair and cracked his back. He wasn't fond of putting on a performance, but everything lied with the details.


	3. The Ritual Site

**Chapter Three**

_The Ritual Site_

Marcella sat in her tent quietly, her head bent over her connected palms, praying in solitude to her God.

"Please guide me through this new challenge, my Lord," she whispered under her breath. "Please let the girl be stronger than the Blackhalls. Lend her _your_ strength."

There was no answer, there never was, but she knew in her heart that her lord heard her. Her words were soaring through the air like a graceful dove, falling into the heart of her all-powerful deity.

She had been uneasy about it ever since she saw them coming up the beach. Outsiders like her, but not traveling for the same reasons. She knew in her heart that they would inevitably meet the foul man who dwelled in isolation in Blackhall Manor, just as she knew God listened to her prayers and did not ignore her. His evil drew people to him, like moths to a flame.

The secrets of Blackhall's gritty history was well known to the others in her fraction, whom she had not seen in years, ever since they had split up to spread faith throughout post-war America. Marcella was truly surprised, and slightly nervous, to see that she had been assigned the East Coast (by far the worst area of the country to be effected by the bombs), only because Point Lookout was on her list of places to visit.

Point Lookout…home of the Blackhalls. She remembered hearing the stories from one of the Mothers who cared for her when she was a child. They still sent shivers down her spine.

"Please lord, give me strength."

She had spent nearly a month already in Point Lookout, and while she could have moved on at any given time, for her work there was done, she had remained, because she was too curious as to the factuality of the Blackhall stories. She felt like God had sent her down this road to accomplish a larger goal that even she was not aware of, perhaps even larger than the Blackhall history itself.

Weeks before Charon and Glenda arrived on shore, Marcella had tentatively arrived on the porch of Blackhall manor and knocked on his massive front doors. Elderly Obadiah Blackhall had appeared in the doorway, sitting in a wheelchair. As soon as Marcella made eye contact with the man, she knew in her heart there was something sinister about him. She had also easily detected the hopeful glint in his beady eyes.

Obadiah said nothing, and only stared at her, waiting for her to speak.

"My name is Marcella," she had said, "and I'm a Missionary visiting Point Lookout to spread faith to any who are interested."

Obadiah hadn't moved a fraction since he'd opened the door. Marcella swore he reminded her of a statue, and it made her uneasy. "I'm surprised," he said after a moment, "I haven't had my door knocked on before. You are very polite. Please, come inside. I am Obadiah Blackhall." He rolled his chair to the side to give her room to walk past.

Marcella entered, nervous, but somehow confident the man would not hurt her. She gathered from her perception that he wanted something from her, perhaps a favor of some sort.

When the doors had closed again, he invited her to sit with him in a small living room. The chairs were old and moth-eaten, but much more comfortable than her cot on the beach. "Too few people are willing to sit down and have a conversation these days." Obadiah said solemnly as he rolled around to face her. "They're too paranoid. But _you_ seem very relaxed."

Marcella wondered if he was being sarcastic, or if he was hard of seeing, for she defiantly didn't feel or look relaxed.

"Tell me about your faith." Obadiah asked after a moment of silence.

The missionary swallowed hard, building up courage. "Only if you tell me about yours."

The old man raised a bushy brow and gave her a pointed look. "Is it normal for you to contradict those who are willing to listen to you?"

"I don't know," Marcella said, trying to ignore the terribly evil feeling she gained from sitting in this house. If she could just touched a wall, or lay upon one of the floors, there would be so much to learn. She could sense this mansion was a tomb of hellish memories. It felt like…something was _clawing_ at her from beneath her feet. "Is it normal to tamper with the dark and abnormal?"

Obadiah seemed to understand now that Marcella was here for a _reason_, and it wasn't to spread her faith. "Oh my," he sighed, "I have had many visits from people like you in the past. They all have heard some form of absurd story about me and my family, but if it makes you feel special, you are the first to be so _straightforward_."

"I am interested in you and your family, Obadiah Blackhall, but first, I have a very simple question." Marcella leaned forward with sharp, unyielding eyes. "Does it _exist_?"

Obadiah stared at her for a long moment, studying her and weighing her like a list of pros and cons. Then, finally, he said closed his eyes and said, "Yes."

A strange sort of fear boiled up in Marcella's heart, and she bit her lip, trying to seem imploring, but only sounding petrified. "You must destroy it then…I know of a place-"

"Destroy it?" Obadiah mimicked, appalled, his eyebrows raising so high his forehead wrinkles deepened considerably. "Who do you think you are?"

"I am nobody but one of his children," Marcella pleaded, "and I don't think you, your family, or the locals in these swamps know the true power of that cursed book!"

"It is you who knows nothing!" Obadiah barked. "I invite you into my home, only so that you could insult me."

"You invited me in for another reason," she said softly, pulling back and looking him in the eyes.

He glared at her, and then let out a heavy, sad sigh. "If you came here looking for the book you're out of luck, young lady. It was stolen from my several days ago, by the locals."

"The swampfolk?" Marcella said, aghast. "You let one of the most dangerous relics in history land in the hands of those _heathens_?"

Obadiah glared at her, obviously sickened by her inability to understand the importance of the book to him, and his family. "I think you should leave." He said firmly, looking stubbornly at his wall of crumbling books.

Marcella stood with fists clenched at her sides, enraged and terrified. "This isn't over, Obadiah Blackhall."

Now she sat alone in her tent, unsure of what to do. She hoped the Ghoul and the girl would not take the unrighteous path.

"Fuck it's hot," Glenda groaned, peeling off her denim jacket from her torso and stuffing it into her pack. Underneath she wore a grimy white tank top that was decorated with blood stains. Charon knew why she kept it, but he couldn't comprehend. Glenda was so obsessed with hygiene, for her to wear a dirty, blood-stained tank top was laughable.

Charon kept on walking without comment, although he had to admit that it was indeed very hot out and the blazing sun up ahead was not making matters any better. The mist had cleared and the clouds had dispersed about an hour earlier. He just wasn't comfortable taking his armor off, even the top layers.

"Don't you think it's hot out here?" She asked, as she picked up a moldy stick from the ground and tossed it far ahead for Dogmeat to fetch.

"Not really," he lied easily.

She scoffed unbelievingly, but didn't seem to be in the mood for an argument. Instead, she lifted up her wrist to view her pip boy, which displayed an inch-tall holographic map of Point Lookout from when she last visited.

"We should be around their ritual grounds soon." She said matter-of-factly. "Last time I was here I came across this old house that was _swarming_ with Swampfolk, as if they were guarding something. That may be where Obadiah was talking about."

Charon instinctively wanted to tell her once more that they should take into account what Marcella had said to him, but he was tired of running in circles with the stubborn smoothskin. She just refused to listen to him, or stop and think of what they were actually doing.

Surprisingly, however, Charon glanced over at her absentmindedly, only to see her giving him a very concerned look.

"What?" He asked, startled.

"You really are worried about this book thing, aren't you?" She asked, and for once she sounded sincere.

Charon paused, and then said with a raspy sigh, "I just don't think we should treat it so lightly."

A sly smile crawled over Glenda's face and he knew the split second of sincerity was lost. "I had no idea you were so superstitious," she said with a laugh. "Are you afraid of black cats, too? Or walking under _ladders_?"

He glared at her, his opaque eyes narrowing. "I'm _not_ superstitious."

"You sure act like it," she said calmly, taking from her pocket the first cigarette she'd shown the light of day since they'd hopped off the Duchess Gambit earlier that morning. Sticking the slender, aged stick between her lips, she lit it with an old match and puffed out a pair of smoke rings with casual ease. She savored the flavor for a moment, before continuing. "It's not unlike anything we've ever done before, am I right? Get asked a favor, get it done, get paid. It's an equation that's worked for us for years."

Charon let out another sigh and let the subject drop. He expected Glenda to just keep going on about it, but instead she tossed an arm around his hip and walked close to him. This only made him exasperated for an entirely different reason, however, and it had nothing to do with some stupid book they were trying to find.

"How about this," Glenda said sweetly after a moment, looking up at him with her big, green eyes. "If the book _does_ turn out to be the fucking _Krivbeknih_," she shook her head as if the idea were utterly ludicrous, "and we do unleash evil forces upon the world, I will let you eat that box of sugar bombs."

The ghoul, not having expected this remark from her at all, let out a snort of laughter, something he rarely did. He pressed his palm against his forehead and said, "Deal."

"I think we're here," she said suddenly, straightening up and nodding ahead of them. She looked around quickly to find Dogmeat, and when she didn't see him, she pulled from a pocket a silent dog whistle and blew on it. The husky bolted out from the bushes and joined them. There was blood dripping from his jowls.

"Do you see anyone up there?" Glenda asked, squinting to see through the trees. Ahead of them in a small clearing was a pile of rubble, and what appeared to be the remnants of an old house. Surrounding the pit was a collection of small poles, which had tiny dolls hanging from segments of string.

"I don't see anyone," Charon replied. Glenda pulled out her assault rifle and started forward again, careful to keep her steps quiet. Charon let her walk ahead a little further than himself, who mimicked her action. It was not because he was a coward who wanted to send a woman into danger first, but he'd be damned to deny he loved the way her hips swayed when she was in sneak mode.

As the two got closer to the rubbish pile (with Dogmeat trading carefully behind them), they started to smell something strange. At first, Charon wrinkled his nose in distaste, but with each step it grew stronger. When they were about fifty yards away, Glenda raised her arm to cover her nose with her sleeve, her face an uncomfortable grimace.

Soon enough, Dogmeat had smartly whined and fell back to where the smell was endurable, but Charon and Glenda were nearly sick to the point of vomit. It was a disgusting, foul stench that Glenda had never experienced before. She could tell it was some sort of wretched mix composed of rotting carcasses, shit, and a sulfur spring.

"Jesus Christ," Glenda snarled, giving up on her sleeve and grabbing the bandana around her neck and wrenching it up to cover her nose and mouth. Besides her, Charon pulled a black cloth from his pocket and tied it around his face.

"That is rank," she said, bringing her rifle butt to her shoulder more tightly. "I don't remember ever smelling something like this before."

Charon grimaced as the smell penetrated his flimsy mask. "You sure this is the place you passed the last time?"

"Positive," Glenda replied, pointing towards the posts with the dolls. "_Those_ I recognize."

"This doesn't look like a ritual ground." Charon said with exasperation. "Looks like a _garbage dump_."

But the problem was, and they both knew it, the source of the smell wasn't clear. Sure there was garbage, but it was mostly broken glass bottles and junk that really didn't emit a smell. What they were being exposed to was giving their stomachs a good battle.

They figured it must have been coming from beyond the rubbish pile. They searched the surrounding area, but the smell lost it's potency as they put distance between themselves and the ritual ground. Baffled, the two stood, trying to understand what was happening.

Finally, Glenda exclaimed, "Charon!" He looked at her, raising his sinewy brow. She looked as if she felt stupid, "I think it's coming from _underground_!"

Simultaneously, they both looked down at their feet. The ground was soggy and more mud than grass, but it seemed solid and normal enough.

Charon looked around and spotted something under the wood beams he hadn't noticed before. "What's that?" He asked, pointing it out to her with the end of his shotgun. Glenda walked over to it and kicked off the debris.

"It's a cellar door," she said excitedly, looking at him and raising her eyebrows expectantly. Charon stared at her for a split second, before he understood what she wanted.

"_No_." He said firmly. "I'm not going down there."

She smiled maliciously. "Scared?" She taunted.

"Yes," he said, crossing his arms and towering over her like a giant, "scared of the smell."

"We can take it," she reasoned with a roll of her eyes, and before he could stop her, she wrenched the doors open and they were blasted with a deadly wave of sick.

Although she had been the one to open it, Glenda was certainly the first to abandon it. She leapt back so fast she tripped on her own feet and fell on her back. But the wet ground didn't seem to bother her as much as her exposed sense. She clasped her hands over her mouth and nose and held back the vomit.

"Idiot!" Charon barked, dragging her to her feet and pulling her away. They joined Dogmeat, who was whining and looking very conflicted. A part of him seemed to want to run away and never come back.

Glenda glared at the door. "What is _down there_?" She gasped. Then, miraculously, a spark lit up in her eyes and she was renewed with some sort of mystical energy Charon believed only Glenda to possess. "Let's find out."

Bursting with adrenaline, the miniature girl jumped to her feet and started back toward the hole of death. Charon, bursting with _reason_, grabbed her by the collar and dragged her back. "No, we are not going down there."

"Why not?" She whined, looking at the whole as if it were a buffet of delicious food awaiting them and not a stomach-emptying hell.

"Because I'd rather not die from whatever poison is down there that lures in idiots like _you_."

Glenda pulled away from him and put her fists on her hips. "We need to get that book." She proclaimed.

The Ghoul looked conflicted, and threw his hands up exasperatedly. "We don't even know if this is the right place."

"How else are we going to find out?"

"Ask the locals?"

Glenda gave him a blank look, and he growled and gritted his teeth so furiously she feared he would crush them to dust. "All right, I get it."_ Damn that fucking contract!_ Charon roared to himself.

Satisfied, Glenda grabbed her gun back up from where she dropped it and turned to Dogmeat. He wagged his tail half-heartedly. "Okay, Dogmeat, just stay put and wait for us. It's no place for a dog down there."

The canine barked in agreement, looking extremely relieved, and she kissed him briefly on the top of the head before tentatively approached the cellar. Now that she'd been blasted with it, the smell was less intense.

"You want to go first?" She asked Charon with a hopeful smile.

Charon shoved Glenda between the shoulder blades and sent her tripping down the stairs.

Inside, there was hardly any light. The gray light from up above filtered down the staircase and gave them a little bit of illumination, but otherwise the only source of light were a stray few candles flickering on the walls.

"Looks like a tomb," Glenda said, her voice shaking with excitement. "And look at those candles, it means there are people down here!"

_Yeah, probably our tomb_, Charon thought irritably. He was by no means a coward, but he was much more cautious than Glenda, who didn't even stop to think what could be dwelling down here in the dark, waiting for them.

At the end of the staircase, which was longer than either of them thought it would be, they found themselves staring down a long, underground hallway. Bits of ceramic floor tiles suggested it may have once been part of the house above, but now it was more earth and dirt than anything else.

The smell, getting stronger by the minute, was surrounding them like a thick, suffocating blanket. Glenda continued to grip the bandana around her nose and mouth, though she didn't think it was helping much. Together, they started down the passageway, keeping their weapons hot on their hips.

"Where do you think this leads?" Glenda whispered, as they came across a fork.

"No idea." Charon answered.

She pointed the end of her rifle down one direction. "I'll take this way and you take the other."

Charon shook his head and dragged her closer by the arm. "We are _not_ splitting up," he said sharply. "Not until we know where we are."

"Nothing's going to happen!" She whispered.

Charon gave her a knowingly look. "Nothing good ever happens when we split up. Remember Tennpenny?"

Glenda looked away childishly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"When you so _ingeniously_ chose to accompany _Roy Phillips_ to kill the old man, and so cleverly chose to do so _alone_, you nearly became a pile of mush on the pavement." Charon growled at her, keeping his grip as solid as steel.

"Whatever," she said, adverting her eyes and started down a random direction. Glenda hated when Charon brought up the notorious story of Roy Philips, the ghoul who had organized the feral attack on Tennpenny. She hated it even more when he brought it up in a way to prove how wrong Glenda is nearly all of the time. She didn't speak to him for a long time as they walked.

This path was less straight, and was a mess of twists and turns and ups and downs. Knotted, ancient tree roots stuck out every few feet, and even with the Pip-Boy light and the candles illuminating their way, Glenda still tripped several times. The path was also much, _much_ longer, and at several times they had to crouch to walk through the narrow tunnel.

Near the end of it, they could see a dim light in the cavernous room beyond, but at this point they were on their hands and knees. Glenda, being the smallest of the pair, crawled forward and peered outwards, trying to see if she could make out anybody in the gloom. What she saw was instead quite…disturbing.

She gasped, and clapped her hands over her mouth. For her entire career in the wastelands, Glenda had never seen anything so foul and gruesome. A huge, deep pit full of rotted corpses, dead animals, sick, mucky water, and the remnants of uneaten food.

She had seen the Enclave murder countless civilians; Trogs from the Pitt tear slaves' limb from limb and even a naked Fawkes at one point. But this took the cake, and it made her stomach uneasy.

Something tugged hard at her hair, and she nearly screamed in shock. When she snapped her head around to see what Charon wanted, she realized he looked worried.

"What?" She snarled, perhaps more angrily than she had aimed for.

"I asked you what you saw." He growled at her, although not unkindly.

Glenda bit her lip beneath the bandana and hesitated. She had never felt a loss of words before, but even when she wasn't looking, the smell of the carnage in the next room made her dizzy. She knew Charon could smell it, too.

"It's…" she couldn't find the words. How weird was that? She swallowed the lump in her throat and for a second felt about running away. Charon seemed too impatient to wait for her to answer, and dragged her down so he could get a look.

He was there at the tunnel opening for a split second, before he returned to her, a little shaken.

"I think we should leave." He said. "_Now_."

Glenda breathed out an unsteady breath. "We need to see what's down there."

"I think we saw enough already." The Ghoul said with zero humor. In the dim light of her Pip-Boy, Glenda could see Charon's stone face staring hard at her.

She said, nervously, "We need to see if the book is down there."

"Do you want to go diving into the pool of dead bodies then?" He whispered sharply.

Glenda grabbed Charon by the collar (with surprising ease, considering their astounding height differences) and shook him slightly. "Charon there is _six hundred_ caps to be made out of this fucking _book_, and we are _flat broke_! I am not going to let some gore stop me from looking for it!" Her eyes were wide and stubborn.

And without missing a beat, he grabbed her back, with a fiercer grip and tugged her off. "There will be other jobs for you," he said reasonably, "preferably ones with less _genocide_."

For a spit second, the two of them stared at one another in the dark. Finally, Glenda tightened her lips and said, "Alright, we'll leave."

Charon sighed, relieved. "Ok, follow me; I'll get us out of here." He crawled past her, but instantly regretted it. As soon as he cleared the way to the tunnel opening, Glenda crawled faster than should be possible towards the hole.

"Glenda!" Charon barked, but it was too late. When she reached the opening she used her foot to propel herself out, her arms spread out in the air as if she were flying. She fell straight into the pit and fell forward, her knees buckling out from underneath her.

Falling to his knees at the tunnel opening to see where she had gone, Charon was gripping the dirt floor so tightly the scarce skin around his knuckles was turning milk-white.

Glenda emerged from the pool of carnage, covered head to foot in blood and bits of gore. Her eyes were shut tight and she ripped off her bandana and vomited all over the corpse of a dead child with a gargantuan head

"Glenda!" Charon roared, as she wiped off her face and started to wade ankle-deep towards the dry spot of land. She was going to look for the book.

Charon gritted his teeth together so hard, he may have been able to break them apart if he didn't know better. He swung his legs over the side and jumped down after her, landing in the soggy ground, blood and gaseous water rising up to his ankles. But unlike Glenda, he didn't trip and get smothered in it.

"Let's go," she said, still running up ahead, without meeting his eyes. Charon followed in a foul mood. He wasn't doing it because she had ordered it. He ran after her so fast, Glenda couldn't help but look over her shoulder and laugh.

He narrowed his eyes. She thought it was all a game. He ran faster, almost tripping over a dead feral, and Glenda giggled and ran faster. She was almost to the slight incline, which would lead them to dry land.

Right before she stepped onto solid, blood-free rock, he reached her; Charon grabbed her arms and spun her around to face him. "You stupid girl!" He shouted, making Glenda jump slightly, surprised at his anger. He shook her and squeezed her arms together so tightly it made her gasp in pain. "What defect do you have that makes you so impossible to be with?"

Glenda shook away her shock and then fought back, trying to get out of his grasp. At some point when she was running she had wiped off the rest of the blood on her face. "Let me go you asshole!"

"You know what Glenda, I will let you go!" He released her suddenly; causing her to stumbled back and fall on her ass. She was shocked he had done so, and stared at him without moving.

Charon fumed, and almost slapped her across the face, but he resisted. Instead, he sneered at her and said, "you might want to try and get yourself killed doing stupid shit," he snarled, "but I don't have to do this! I would have been better off bouncing at the Ninth Circle my entire life!" He turned to walk away, but Glenda was on her feet in an instance.

"You stay right where you are, Charon!" She shouted, clenching her fists at her sides. For a second, he resisted her order and a jolt of fear pierced through Glenda's queasy stomach. But he came to a stop, his body trembling with rage. Here he was, standing shin-high in a pit from Hell, and he couldn't even bring himself to keep walking.

Glenda breathed a sigh of relief. "Now…now you turn yourself around and you come the fuck back!" She said a little hysterically. "You can't leave me that easily."

Charon tightened his chapped lips and turned toward her, walking back. As he stepped onto the dry stone, she half flickered a smile before saying through heavy breaths, "I didn't mean to piss you off."

He glared at her, and she frowned. She decided to leave him be for now, and she scoffed as she walked away. They then proceeded to put as much distance between them and the pit of death as possible. Down the next passage way, more candles were lit and the ground leveled out again, worn out by numerous people walking through over the years. This was obviously more utilized than the last passage they were crawling through.

And yet they still saw no sign of anybody else down here with them, except…

"Do you hear that?" Glenda said suddenly, coming to a stop.

Charon frowned, clearly irritated with having to answer her. "Hear what-"

"_Sh!_" She snapped, holding a finger to her lips. They stood in eerie silence for a moment, but it was only Glenda who seemed to hear anything from it other than the _drip drip drip_ of water somewhere in the distance.

For a long time, Glenda stood perfectly still, her finger raised into the air to keep Charon from talking, and she stared hard at the ground, straining her ears. _There were voices!_ She said to herself. She could swear she heard people speaking, as if in hushed whispers, somewhere in the dank gloom. She glanced at Charon, who was looking at her warily.

"You don't hear them?" She whispered. Then she looked around in the dark, as if the culprits would spring out of nowhere and surprise them. "I can't make out what they're saying but I can defiantly hear them…"

"Hear _who_?" Charon asked. He still heard nothing.

Glenda opened her mouth to respond, but then closed it and pushed the subject to the side. "Nevermind, let's just keep moving."

And so they started walking again, but this time Charon was keeping more of an eye on her than on the path ahead.

Eventually they came out of the tunnel and arrived in what appeared to be an underground crypt of some sort. The floor was tiled with thick, cracked slates of dark stone, and a shrine rested at the top of the incline, besides a stone table the length of a bed and a pedestal with a chiseled bowl at the top.

And Glenda saw there was defiantly something _inside_ the bowl.

Smiling with self satisfaction, Glenda took long strides up to the bowl, where she plucked the black, tattered book from its resting place and waved in front of Charon mockingly. "See? I _told_ you we'd find it here! Six hundred caps, Cher, six hundred fucking caps-"

A bullet whizzed past Glenda's head so fast, her black hair erupted into the air like an explosion. Her mouth was open in a silent gasp, and she seemed frozen, not yet understanding what had happened. Then, before she could fully grasp that she had been shot at, Charon stepped in front of her and blasted his shotgun twice.

A high-pitched voice cried out in pain, and looking around his shoulder, Glenda saw a shirtless man from the swamp tumble over and fall to the ground, dead. A local.

"What the fu-"

"Get back!" Charon bellowed, pushing her behind the stone bed, where the two of them barely managed to squeeze behind to avoid being pelted with the bolt-action rifles carried around by the insane locals, who had descended upon them the moment Glenda had touched the book.

"What is going on?" She cried, as the swampfolk fired round after round at the stone bed, and Charon blindly fired back. Glenda could hear bits of rock crumbling away not even three feet behind her.

"Shut up and shoot!" The Ghoul barked, and Glenda stuffed the book in her bag before pulling the assault rifle from her shoulder and peering around the edge of the stone structure to fire at the inbred idiots. She took out four immediately, while the rest continued to wave their guns and furiously fire from the hip, failing miserably.

There were dozens! Dozens, and neither her nor Charon had even heard them coming. But the Swampfolk, in small numbers, were not an issue. The fact that they were both trapped in this underground shrine surrounded by swarms of angry locals could not be good for them.

"We need to duck out of here!" Glenda shouted over the ear-splitting blasts. Charon knew she was right, and began to search for an escape route immediately. The only other way out of the incline was a small crevice between the rocks, which appeared to lead somewhere. But the problem was, it was dreadfully small, and to reach it, they would have to cross twenty feet of Wild West. With dozens of angry locals firing like young raiders given their first gun, it would be nearly impossible.

Unless...

Charon grabbed Glenda's pack and ripped it off her shoulders before she even knew what was happening. "Keep firing!" He ordered, when she turned to see what he was doing. Glenda didn't argue, and began unloading lead rain onto their enemies, keeping them away from the stone bed. Charon began digging through its infinite depths, until he found...

"Get down!" He roared, throwing something small over the edge of the bed and tackling her to the ground with his weight. Glenda gasped as the breath was knocked out of her, and screamed when the explosion rocked the whole cavern. Bits of rock from up above fell on top of them, and the clustering swampfolk were blown to smithereens. At least most of them were; the ones still coming down the passage ways wouldn't be harmed.

Without wasting time or explaining, Charon dragged Glenda to her feet and dragged her to the tiny passage way to their left. One of the locals with a bolt-action fired twice in surprise, missing them by centimeters. The Ghoul managed to squeeze himself and his ally into the crevice, and they started shuffling in the dark as fast as they could, parallel to the crevice walls.

"Could have warned me about the grenade," Glenda growled, tucking her rifle close and pulling her magnum from its holster and keeping it aimed at their point of entry. Whenever she saw a mutated face come around after them, she fired with surprising accuracy.

Charon kept his grip tight around her hand as he led her into the dark. He had no idea where this small path led to, or if it even led anywhere. He had only improvised in the heat of the moment.

"Six hundred caps," he groaned, "this isn't worth it."

Glenda, however, was in much higher spirits. She had been in bigger jams than this in the past, especially whenever trying to escape the Enclave. If they escaped, which she knew they would, then soon enough Obadiah Blackhall would be emptying the caps into her eager, outstretched hands.

But sometimes, Glenda wasn't always the most intuitive.

"What's that noise?" Charon asked suddenly, stopping in his tracks and straining his ear in the pitch dark.

"I don't hear anything," Glenda said, giving him a worried look. She had just done the same thing several moments ago, hadn't she? "Do you hear voices?"

"No I don't hear fucking voices!" He snapped at her, "I hear...Wait a minute, turn on your pip boy light."

"You have to do it; I can't reach it with my other arm."

With a bit of difficulty, Charon felt up her wrist until he hit a switch near the dull-green screen. Instantly, a bright, florescent light flooded the whole passage way.

And Charon saw the man standing directly next to Glenda.

"Glen!" He roared, trying to stop the inevitable. But he was too late. The man grabbed Glenda by the waist and dragged her away from him. Charon felt her hand slip from his, and he tried to grope in the dark for it, but she was already gone.

"Get the fuck off of me!" Glenda screeched, as the man pulled her through the narrow passage. He was skinny enough to walk through it normally, but she was still squeezed uncomfortably between the two walls. Somewhere along the way back to the cavern, she dropped her magnum, and she prayed to God that Charon would find it. That had belonged to her father.

The swampman smelled of sulfur and filth, and she felt light throwing up as she was jostled against the two walls. Soon, they were right back in the cavern, and the remaining swampfolk were surrounding her like bees after honey.

She tried to fight them off, first by going after her rifle, which was taken from her and lost, secondly by throwing as many punches as she could muster.

_I'm the Lone Wanderer_, Glenda thought wildly as she was gradually overwhelmed and restrained, _there's no way in Hell I can go out like this!_

As she was being dragged away, gunshots were fired in the distance, and one of the folk stumbled back out of the crevice holding something small above his head. At the last possible second, Glenda caught sight of what it was.

Charon's belt, dripping with blood.


	4. The Shack in the Swamp

**A/N**:

Updating this chapter took some time due to finals. I finish school today though, so hopefully I'll be quicker with the next.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Four<strong>

_The Shack in the Swamp_

It appeared that the underground ritual site was not only composed of the slaughter pit, but also of multiple tunnels varying in length and width. Glenda supposed the ritual site was only one of many entrances to some sort of tunnel system beneath Point Lookout.

The locals dispersed after their ambush, dragging a fiery, furious Glenda with them. She was being led through a dark, dimly lit passage by five horrendously ugly men. They had tethered her wrists together with moist, moldy rope behind her back, and gagged her with a wad of cloth that tasted of saturated whiskey, not a drink she was particularly fond of.

Still, the smells from before were still heavy in the air, though by now the desire to retch had faded away, replaced now with the growing fear that Charon had been killed. Glenda stumbled across the earthy path, as she worried over the sight of his blood-drenched belt.

_He's not dead_, Glenda kept telling herself, while determined to keep her strength for when she had an opportunity to take out the inbred scum. _They caught his belt, that's all. He's escaped._

For what seemed like an hour, Glenda thought her captors were lost. Soon, however, the tunnel began to take a steady incline, and it wasn't long before she was having trouble breathing. The taste of the soggy cloth in her mouth was making her sick, and she tried her best to concentrate on breathing steadily from her nose.

"Here?" One of the men suddenly barked to another, sending a spray of spittle from his bulbous lips.

The other man nodded dumbly, reaching up to the ceiling of the passage and tugging on something. Glenda looked up, and saw that they were standing beneath a trap door. As the local tugged and tugged, the dirt around its frame crumbled and fell in her eyes. She winced and looked away.

"It won't open!" He screamed, far too loudly than would be normal. The others began to wail, and Glenda looked at all of them, baffled, for there seemed to be no apparent reason for worry. There was an unlocked padlock still attached to the handle, though she doubted any of them really noticed. For about five minutes, they groaned and slammed their rifle butts against the aged wood, and up above, people were calling back and tugging at the door as well.

Eventually, their constant banging caused the padlock to jostle loose and fall to the dirt with a dull thud, and the swamp men cheered in excitement when the door finally opened.

Glenda was in awe at their stupidity.

Above, there were two more men waiting, and to Glenda's horror, a woman. She had never seen a female local before in Point Lookout, and she realized it was probably because they bore such a similar resemblance to their brothers and cousins. However, what was beyond the trap door, Glenda could not tell, for the next second, something hard struck her in the back of the head and she was knocked out.

* * *

><p>Meanwhile, Charon remained alive. He had tried to chase Glenda and her captors down after she had been pulled back toward the cavern, but another sneaky swamp man had been waiting for him in the gloom as well. He fought with him briefly, though in the tight, narrow space there was little skill needed, and luck was his winning factor. He had found Glenda's magnum near his feet and had used it to bludgeon the ugly man to death. Charon had not wanted to shoot blindly in the dark.<p>

At the entrance of the tunnel, he could hear Glenda demanding to be freed, and more men were coming for him. Charon had to choose quickly, and he chose to flee. He knew, just by the fact she wasn't dead yet, that Glenda was being captured, not tortured. He would find her again, but he would be no help dead. As he turned to keep on moving down the passage, the man he had beat to death, although apparently not well enough, reached up and grabbed him around the belt, dragging him down closer to the dirt.

The Ghoul panicked, for the others would be upon him soon. Without thinking, he unhooked his belt and left it behind, along with his precious knife.

The swamp man looked at it triumphantly, and then let his head fall to the ground, dead.

Charon had no idea where he was going, or even if the narrow passage had an exit, but he never stopped. Just as Glenda was worried for him, he was worried for her, but luck was on his side after all, as he gradually approached an old wooden door that hadn't been used for years. After a difficult time trying to pry it open, he found himself in what appeared to be a caved-in, underground basement of sorts. A stone staircase to his left led him into a higher section of the room, which in turn brought him to the surface.

Charon tried to take in his surroundings. He had no idea how far he was from the Ritual Site, nor could he smell the retched stench of death, or hear any of the swampfolk. He took a second to try and collect himself. He had Glenda's magnum, no map, and no idea where they had taken her.

Fishing through his deep pockets, he drew out a long, slender whistle and blew into it. No noise was heard, but moments later, Dogmeat burst through the bushes, wagging his tail excitedly until he realized Glenda was not the one who had called for him.

So he was close to the Ritual Site, which meant the old house he had emerged from was just another entrance. Charon ignored the mutt as it sniffed the air for its master. Glenda was nowhere to be seen.

Dazed and confused, Charon began to turn in circles where he stood. He needed help, from somebody who was already used to the country around Point Lookout, and who knew the locals. He had no idea where he was or where they could have taken Glenda.

Then, as if hit with sudden inspiration, a single name appeared in his head.

Oh, he was going to regret this.

* * *

><p>"I'm <em>hungry<em>!" Someone barked suddenly, breaking Glenda's sleep and rousing her with a start. Her whole body flinched, and she opened her eyes in a flash. She was greeted with a ceiling whose faded yellow paint was chipping and peeling. For a second, she wondered idly where she was, before remembering what had happened.

"No food. No punga left!"

"Go get some then!"

_Why are they all yelling?_ Glenda thought irritably, feeling the horrible throb at the back of her head where she had been knocked out cold. To her surprise, her hands were unbound and free to move, but she felt heavy and limp, as if she had suddenly lost all control over her body. She was not numb, but she had defiantly been drugged.

And where was she? With difficulty, she managed to turn her head to the side and see her surroundings. It was a small, claustrophobic shack of some sort, with peeling flowered wall paper and a strange yellow glow. The air was close and suffocating, and she felt as if every sound pounded in her ear. When she looked to the other side, she saw two figures standing near a cracked sink, their backs turned to her. They were only inches away.

"Where is the punga now? We're starving!"

The tallest figure, a man, turned sharply and grabbed the other by their ratty blonde hair. "I said go get some!" He roared, and Glenda tensed as his hoarse voice boomed in the confined space. The other local was a woman, and when he released her, she fell to her knees. She was holding something rectangular in her arms as if it were a precious child.

"I can't find punga anymore. It's abandoned us!" She looked up to the ceiling and started sobbing. "What to do, what to do?"

The man growled and began to pace around the shack furiously, flailing his arms about wildly as if he was trying to swat away a bee. Glena quickly shut her eyes closed again and pretended to be asleep, although she kept them open just a crack to see what was going on.

"Stupid whore, stupid _daughter_!" He yelled, barring hideous yellow teeth at her and smashing things around their pathetic kitchen. "Where is our son? He will do what you can't! _Useless girl_!" And without warning, he took a broad step to her and grabbed something from the counter. Glenda caught a glimpse of something rusted and metal through the crack of her eyes before he began to beat the girl like an animal. Her screams were high pitched and strained, and Glenda flinched every time she heard the heavy, blunt hits.

"Stop!" The girl shrieked, dropping whatever was in her hand and holding her arms up to shield herself. But it was no use. Her father, or at least Glenda assumed it was her father, beat her until she was a whimpering, bloody heap on the floor.

Glenda couldn't bring herself to close her eyes again. She could feel her heart beating a million miles per hour against her rib cage.

Abruptly, making her whole body jump with fear, the shack door swung opened with a crash and a younger swamp man walked in. He was tall and skinny, with round, cross eyes and thinning hair. Half his face seemed lack and numb.

"There you are!" The older man barked, dropping the bloody tire iron he had used to beat his daughter onto the floor with a shaking clatter. "Where are the others?"

The young man smiled maliciously, and deposited a pile of punga fruit collected in his arms into the sink, ignoring the fact that his sister...or mother...Glenda wasn't so sure, was reaching out to him with a crooked arm. Several of her remaining teeth were cracked and blood was spilling from her mouth in disgusting globs of dark red. Every inch of her seemed to be bruised, although Glenda supposed she would live.

"They're coming!" The younger man said in a hoarse, yet softer voice. "They say outsiders are wandering around, outsiders dressed in black!" Suddenly, he looked down at his feet, wide-eyed and oblivious, as if he just noticed the girl clawing at his feet. Glenda also noted that he seemed undisturbed by her condition. "Why is Jan on the floor?"

"Stupid cunt wouldn't go get punga," said the older man in response, giving the girl a repulsive look. "She needed to be punished."

A sick, twisted look came over the boy's face. "Can I punish her, dad?" The boy asked, looking up at his father. Glenda saw the older man smile with such viciousness; he looked like a rabid animal.

"Be quick about it," he said.

Glenda tensed. The younger boy clapped his hands excitedly as if he been promised candy, and reached down to drag Jan to her feet. She instantly began screaming in protest, and Glenda saw the forming bruises on her skin and her awkwardly bent right arm. But the boy ignored her squeals and began to drag her across the floor, onto a couch that was on the other side of Glenda's table. Jan screamed and tried to get away, but it was no use. The younger man was much stronger than her, and pinned her down on the moth-eaten furniture and began to pull at her ratty skirt. Glenda felt sick.

"No, no, no, no!" Jan screamed her face an ugly mess of tears and blood. Her assailant began unbuttoning his pants, biting his lip with concentration, before he got the zipper down and exposed his hard member. Glenda went rigid as she watched the young man thrust into the battered Jan and made disgusting noises as he did so.

Jan screamed harder, clearly in pain. He slammed into her ferociously, grunting and wheezing as he did so. Glenda couldn't bring herself to look away although she wanted to. When she tried to move her arms to help the poor girl, she was ashamed to see the drugs were still keeping her as still as the dead.

The couch springs squeaked as the younger swamp man pounded into the frail girl, and after about two minutes he began to quicken, almost howling now as the orgasm began to come upon him. When he came, he went all the way inside his sister (or mother) and went weak in the knees. Jan, however, went limp and started to sob with thick, short breaths.

"You done?" Ask his father, who took long strides over to them and tore his son off the girl. At first Glenda was sure he was going to leave Jan there to sob, until she noticed the considerable bulge in his jeans. He reached down to unbutton his pants like his son had, and Glenda was suddenly fueled with enough adrenaline to run a mile in a minute. She spotted an old, dull kitchen knife lying on the floor next to the couch, and with a loud roar of effort, she rolled herself off the table, grabbed the knife, and stabbed it hard into the man's foot before he even had a chance to stroke his hard-on.

As the swamp man screamed with pain, and blood spurted from his bare feet, Glenda was suddenly weak again and could not move. She lay still on the floor, her hand still on the knife, and waited for her fate. She was surprised, however, to see the Krivbeknih lying on the kitchen floor near the sink.

"AWAKE!" The younger man roared, as his hurried to zip up his pants. His deep, booming voice shook the whole shack, and Jan seemed startled and looked down at Glenda as if she hadn't even noticed she were there.

"She awake?"Bellowed the father, who stopped his cry of pain and was looking at his foot as if a curious onlooker. "She coming round?"

Glenda was grabbed by the hair and forced to sit up straight. She was still limp, and could do nothing to fight back. The father stuck his gruesome face into her and sneered, forcing her to breath in his disgusting breath. "She's round! Go tell the others!"

The young one sprinted from the shack, passing Jan, who was trying to crawl from the couch away from her father and…Glenda finally decided to settle on son. Some disgusting inbred relationships were going on and she didn't quite care enough to linger on the thought. Glenda met her eyes for a split second, and wished she had not. The girl's obvious suffering sent a jolt of pity and sympathy through the Lone Wanderer's heart, which she had trained over the years to be as nonchalant about the suffering of others as she had roamed the wasteland. Glenda had forced herself to turn a blind eye to slavers, raiders, and even the Enclave, on such occasions, in order to maintain her own survival. But the simple look of a local, inbred tart from Point Lookout?

Well the chest she kept her heart in was starting to feel a bit like the Berlin wall all of a sudden.

"Is she your daughter?" Glenda asked, forcing herself to speak through the drugs. Her voice came out slurred and retarded, but the bearish man had understood her, glanced at Jan and then back to Glenda.

"You outsiders are not welcome here!" He barked, shaking her head. "You are not welcome underground! You steal our punga!"

"Then I'll leave." Glenda said calmly. "Just give me that there book and that girl and I'll never come back."

"Ha!" He guffawed in her face, sending spit into her eyes. "Ha. Ha. Ha!"

Well that strategy didn't work. Glenda began to panic a little. With Charon gone, a legion of idiotic, superstitious swampfolk on their way, and a body doped up on numbing drugs, she really didn't have much of a weapon to use. In fact, she didn't have any weapons. Her magnum lost, her rifle, taken, and she had no idea where her shotgun was.

"_Our_ book," the father said harshly, too close to her face, "our book gives us punga when we give it outsiders!"

Glenda looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"Our book," whispered Jan, who was looking at the Krivbeknih with love in her swollen eyes, "Our book loves punga."

Glenda stared at both of them in turn, completely bemused. Both were staring slack-jaw at the book as if it had them hypnotized, but when she looked, all she saw was a pile of six hundred caps waiting to be handed to her. Even in situations like this, she still kept her mind on the money.

But she _was_ beginning to realize what they were talking about. They were going to perform a sacrifice.

"The punga doesn't grow because of the book," Glenda said desperately, hoping to delay them so she could think of a way to escape. Maybe she could force herself to move under the drugs like she had done to stab the father in his foot. "And outsiders aren't the reason why the punga is gone."

"What does the girl know about it?" He snarled incoherently. Then, without warning, he slammed her down onto the table again and pulled, as if from thin air, a band of thick rope, which he started winding around her body and binding her to the table. Glenda used what little strength she had to try and struggle away from him, but it was useless. The young swamp man returned at that point, with several other mutated friends, all of whom looked upon the sight of an awakened excitedly.

Jan reached out to touch the Krivbeknih, still in her trance, but her father stooped low and dragged her to her feet.

"Enough sobbing," he said firmly, forcing her to stand. She leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling her arm and staring now at Glenda.

Before Glenda could say a thing, or bark some sarcastic bullshit at them to buy herself some time, another gag was forced into her mouth, and this time, it was a wad of old newspaper. Glenda gagged on it and gave them all violent glares.

"Take the book." The father said to Jan, handing her the Krivbeknih. She looked around nervously, as if expecting a trap, and then attentively took it from him. With shaking hands, she opened the pages and started to breathe heavily.

"Our book," she whispered faintly, through a waterfall of tears, "let us find our punga."

"Get the knife!" The father barked at his son, who scrambled away to retrieve the knife from the floor in which Glenda had used to stab the father in the foot. Now that she looked at it more closely, it was not a kitchen knife, but an old, rusted blade that may have been worth something in the past. Its decorative handle actually looked like something that may have been in a pre-war shop that sold decor weapons for collectors, but it's fake jewels and novice craftsmanship had long since fallen and faded. All that remained now was a semi-sharp blade that wouldn't threaten a rad roach.

But that didn't mean Glenda wanted to be bled with it. Given enough force, even a spoon could stab someone.

"Take away the outsiders who steal our food," Jan continued her face pale and puffy, with red-rimmed eyes. "We give you this girl, who tried to steal you from us."

The young boy took a step forward and raised the knife high above his head, until its point was aiming for Glenda's heart. She started to panic, and the adrenaline was causing her to move more freely. She tried to wriggle out of her bonds, which were tied loosely.

"Keep our swamps for us!" Jan suddenly screeched, and Glenda shut her eyes tightly as the blade fell with astounding velocity.

_BANG! _

_BANG!_

Glenda managed to once more find the strength to move, and had thrown all her weight to one side in order to tip the table over, crushing the foot on one of the swamp men and sending her rolling over the linoleum floor.

At the same time, the door to the shack was kicked open, torn from its hinges, and sent flying into the wall, clipping Jan's bad arm in the elbow and causing her to scream in utter pain and drop the book. The other locals spun around just in time to see a flash of dirty red hair before being blasted away by the sound of a shotgun.

Glenda didn't allow herself to be overwhelmed by the drugs again, and in the crowded space she managed to sit up on all fours. Jan's son had his head blasted off in a flurry of brain bits, and he dropped the cheap blade, which clattered next to Glenda on the floor.

Jan screamed and tried to hide under the table, but her father tugged her in front of him as if she were a shield. The men were still clustering around Glenda, prohibiting her from seeing what was going on, but through a slight gap between bumbling shoulders, she saw a very familiar face, framed by oily red hair.

Nadine?

_Bang! Bang!_ Two more blasts were sounded off, and the locals began fumbling for their weapons. But it was no use. Nadine was storming through them with a look of pure excitement and carnage on her face.

"Take it!" She sang, "That's what I said! _Take it!_"

Glenda tried to stand to her feet, but the drugs were still trying to weigh her down, and when she looked up, she found herself staring into the face of the swampfolk father, who had dropped Jan and picked up the knife his son had dropped.

"It must be done!" He roared, and once more the blade fell towards her. Glenda screamed into her gag, but no pain came. When she opened her eyes again, the father was staring up at the ceiling wide-eyed, blood gushing from afresh slit in his throat. The warm, red fluid splattered across Glenda's face and made her scrambled backwards. The father stumbled around for a moment, before falling to the floor in a heap, his hands hooking onto Jan's collar and taking her down with him. When he was still, she remained on the floor, cowering and holding her head with her scrawny arms, her father's body strewn across her lap.

A second later, Charon's face peered over Glenda, she would have screamed with happiness, had she been able to use her mouth.

"You're nothing but trouble," he mumbled, as he hastily pulled the gag from her mouth and forced her onto her sleepy feet. Behind them, Nadine was finishing up her slaughter, stomping each of her fallen victims in the face with her muddy boots

Glenda, relieved to have been saved, found that the drugs were wearing off faster than she had expected. She clung to Charon's shoulder for support, but needed no other assistance.

But they were far from done. The swampfolk who had been near the area and heard the gun shots, suddenly came swarming into the shack all at once to attack the outsiders, sending all three of them down to the floor. Charon once again covered Glenda's small body with his own, and blasted them back with his own shotgun. There were angry cries of pain and sounds of bodies hitting the floor. Nadine was laughing as she took cover behind the ratty old couch.

"I need a weapon!" Glenda shouted, although she was still under the influence of the drugs, and therefore would have had a hell of a time trying to aim.

"Just stay down," Charon said, knowing full well that if he were to give Glenda back the magnum now she might end up shooting either him or Nadine. He kept them both low behind the fallen table, shielding them both. There were only a few stray idiots left anyways. He pointed them out to Nadine, who jumped out and took them both out in a second.

"Come on, let's bug out," Nadine said after the locals had all be taken out. She grabbed one of Glenda's arms while Charon took the other. They pulled her from the shack together, and to her immediate delight, were joined by a barking Dogmeat, who nearly tackled her on sight.

"Down, mutt!" Charon growled, sending the husky whimpering back. They stopped near the bushes, where Nadine abandoned them to go back and loot the shack.

Charon dragged Glenda to a tree where he fell to the base of and began to breathe harder than he had in a long time. He kept one arm wrapped around the smoothskin, who was also rushing with adrenaline and gradually gaining feeling back in her fingers.

"_That_..." she breathed, "was unexpected."

"Yeah," he said, his chest rising up and down with hers. "You should thank Nadine, she knew where they were taking you."

Glenda turned towards him and forced herself to lift her arms. "I'm thanking you. I thought you died." She grabbed his deformed face and kissed him full on the lips. She didn't break away until he pushed her back.

"Relax, I'm fine," he said.

She was shaking, and Glenda could still feel blood pounding in her ears. "Jesus, I thought they were going to _kill_ me. I thought I was dead."

Charon scoffed. "Like that could happen. The great Lone Wanderer taken out by a bunch of dumb inbred locals at Point Lookout?"

"I don't think I'm so great anymore," Glenda said, taking deep breaths. "I think I should retire-"

"Hey!" Nadine had reappeared outside, brandishing her shotgun, "there's some girl in here, should I blow her brains out?"

Charon groaned, but Glenda pushed away from him and stood to her feet, ignoring her shaky knees. She stumbled back into the shack and grabbed Nadine's shotgun from her hands, ignoring the girl's shout of protest.

As she figured, Jan was still sobbing and cowering on the floor next to her father's body. Besides her, the Krivbeknih was sitting open, its pages rustling in the still air somehow. Glenda stepped over her and picked it up, tucking it into the inner pocket of her denim coat.

"Who is she?" Charon asked, crossing his arms.

Glenda bent down next to the girl and pried away one of her arms. Without warning, Jan screamed and tried to crawl away.

"_NO!_" She shrieked. "Leave me alone!"

"I'm not going to hurt you," Glenda said, a little more sharply than she was aiming for. "I'm trying to help. I have something that could fix that arm of yours."

"Don't touch me," Jan whispered, holding onto the leg of the table and looking away. "You'll burn me."

Nadine exchanged odd glances with Charon, who was as confused as she. "Glenda," Charon said, "we don't have time for this."

"We have time," Glenda snapped at him. "If any more swampfolk come, we can handle them."

The Ghoul opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, but then closed it and shook his head. Glenda returned her attention to Jan.

"Your name is Jan, right?"

The girl nodded, looking at Glenda with weary, puffy eyes. Her forehead was large and round, much bulbous to be normal, and she had bald patches all over her head. Glenda noticed, strangely, that one ear was smaller than the other, and the girl's mouth was lopsided and crooked, part of her top lip seemed permanently stretched.

"Yes, I am Jan." She whispered. "This is _my_ shack."

"Do you want to stay here?" Glenda asked. "Or do you want to leave with us?"

Nadine dropped the ceramic plate she was holding and let it shatter to the floor. "Leave with us? Gleny are you _nuts_?"

"Just shut the fuck up for five fucking seconds, _alright_?" Glenda yelled, raising a hand to shut her up. She reached out and took Jan by the shoulder, ignoring the girl's wince. "Well?" She asked softly, although Glenda's soothing voice was too similar to her condescending voice.

Jan looked into Glenda's eyes and bit her lip as she sobbed. "I don't want to stay here..."

"Okay then, you'll come-"

"And I don't want to leave," she finished. Glenda stared at her, confused, and Jan sucked in a breath of air before sobbing, "I just want to die!"

For a moment there was nothing but silence, and Charon stepped forward. "Glenda we should just leave."

She looked up at the Ghoul with more emotion in her eyes than he ever saw before. The sight startled him a bit. "I just saw her get raped by her own son, who I think was also her fucking _brother_, while her dad just let it happen." Glenda said sharply, "and I saw her dad beat her with a tire iron."

"What, so you've gone soft? You want to give her a better life Glenda? Is that it?" Charon scoffed. "Look at her; she's pining after a fucking book!"

Glenda looked down and was surprised to see Jan tugging at her shirt, trying to reach the Krivbeknih in her pocket. She pushed her off, and Jan burst into tears.

"Kill me!" Jan screamed. "I can't get it out of my head!" She started to tear chunks of hair out of her scalp, and she bit her lower lip so hard it started to bleed.

"Get _what_ out?" Glenda asked.

Jan sucked in her breaths rapidly as she squirmed around on the floor like a possessed child. "The voices...it _talks_ to me."

Glenda frowned. "I don't understand-"

"_KILL ME!_" The girl shrieked, and without missing a beat, Nadine stepped forward and blasted her face off.

"Nadine!" Glenda shrieked, spinning around and pulling the gun from the girl's hand as if it could change anything. "_What the fuck are you doing!_" Her voice was shrill and high, slightly hysterical.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing? I'm doing that girl a favor!" She shoved Glenda away and took back her shotgun. "You think Swampfolk can live happy lives and be normal if you drag them out of this pit? They're just like the raiders and ferals! They _never_ change. That girl would have just been a mutated, superstitious idiot for the rest of her life, endangering everyone around her with her disturbed mind!"

"You don't know that." Glenda shouted.

"She's right."

Everyone in the shack spun around and aimed whatever weapon they were carrying at the doorway. Marcella stood before them, saddened and disheveled.


	5. Message in the Safe

**A/N:**

Sorry it took so long to update. I have unfortunately just gone through a particularly rough break-up, but in the long run it just gives me more inspiration to write. Hope you enjoy this (shortish) chapter.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Five<strong>

_Message in the Safe_

"Marcella?" Glenda stepped away from Nadine to get a better look at the missionary.

"How did you find us?" Charon asked, narrowing his opaque eyes suspiciously.

Marcella ignored Charon's sharp tongue and stood up straight taking a deep breath before she spoke. "I admit I had little faith in either of you." Her eyes flickered intentionally towards Glenda. "I tracked you to the Ritual Site, and then to this shack, after the ghoul ran back to Pilgrim's Landing to get help. I followed in fear you would take the book to Obadiah."

Charon and Glenda exchanged suspicious looks. Glenda cocked her head to the side and shifted her weight with her hands on her hips. "What is it _with_ this book anyways?" She pulled it from her coat and shook it in front of her. "It's just a book."

"It's not just a book!" Marcella insisted, taking a step forward. "And there are no words to describe it."

Glenda sighed. "The Krivbeknih, huh? One of the darkest relics to have ever existed?" She slipped the book back into her pocket and rolled her eyes. "I've read about in pre-war books that were in the vault I grew up in. It's just superstition."

"It's NOT SUPERSTITION!" Marcella suddenly shouted, making everyone in the shack jump a foot into the air. Awkward silence crept up on them, and Nadine nervously looked between all her companions. By her feet, Dogmeat whined and lowered his head.

The red head raised her hands diplomatically. "Hey, now, no need for this hostility. In fact, what are you even _talking_ about? Where the hell did the book come from?"

Glenda glared at her, and Marcella said nothing, although her face was very grave. Nadine looked to Charon for an answer, but he merely sighed, and said, "go ahead and get the boat ready, we'll be going back to the Wasteland soon."

"Excuse me?" Glenda snapped, suddenly whirling on him in a tornado of wild black hair and angry green eyes, "when did I ever say _that_?"

Charon stared her down without humor. "You either give the book to Obadiah for your money, or you give it to Marcella, take your pick. Either way, I'd rather not stay in the swamps."

Glenda considered his statement for a minute and then caved. She looked to Nadine, "he's right, we're leaving, asap. You should go get the boat ready, and do me a favor and take Dogmeat with you."

Insulted that she was not included in the conniving plot, Nadine marched away in a huff. Glenda ordered her precious dog to follow, and he padded along after her until they disappeared into the vegetation.

Once they were gone, Charon rose to his full height and grabbed Glenda by her arm. "Now, make up your mind, so we can go home." He barked. He was very unhappy, for he never really got cross with Glenda the way he was now. Deep down, the attachment he had to whomever held his contract was still carved into his bones, and although the paper was gone, it was still insanely difficult to give orders to her. It was for this reason that he would never be rid of her, even if he wanted it.

However, this didn't change the fact that sometimes he could not stand her as his '_employer_.'

"Don't tell me what the fuck to do," Glenda said sharply, and the Ghoul immediately fell silent. Marcella looked between them nervously.

"Please don't become angry at each other over the situation," she said calmly, "the very presence of the Krivbeknih is already hindering your friendship."

"What do I get if I give you this book?" Glenda asked swiftly, turning towards the missionary. "Because I have a man offering me _six hundred_ caps for a rotting old book."

"I have nothing to offer that you would find valuable." Marcella said. "All I can offer in return is the reassurance that no harm will come from it ever again."

"And you think that will help me?" Glenda grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled on it violently. "Jesus, this is not my week." Then, to even her surprise, Glenda turned to Charon and gave him a pleading look. "Well?"

He frowned, still sore from her previous retort, "well _what_?"

"Well, what do you think?" She articulated furiously, as if it were obvious. Charon saw a distinct pink glow to her cheeks. He knew the girl was very prideful, and asking him for his opinion was difficult.

She was defiantly going to be the death of him some day. The Ghoul groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. After a moment, he looked up and said, "we should go see Obadiah."

Instantly, a look of dread crawled over Marcella's face, and her tan skin turned snow white. She was about to interject, but Charon clarified himself by adding, "to _interrogate_ him."

"What good would that do?" Glenda asked, finding the idea absurd.

"Because," Charon said impatiently, rolling his eyes, "if he denies anything _supernatural_ about the book, we can figure out if he's lying or not."

"How?" Glenda wondered.

"Intuition." The Ghoul said with a sigh.

Marcella and Charon looked to Glenda, waiting for her answer. Finally, because she couldn't take the pressure, she threw her hands up into the air in exasperation. "Aright! _Fine_! We'll go and fucking talk to him."

The look of relief was glowing on Marcella's face as she turned to leave the cabin.

And then a round of bullets went straight between her sternum.

At first, Glenda was confused, for she had not even registered the sound of a minigun until Marcella had hit the ground, her chest a sickening display of shredded flesh, where the bullets had torn through her like paper. For a long moment, Glenda and Charon simply stared at the writhing body, completely unphased.

Then the bullets started flying again, and the two ducked for cover only just in time. Glenda hit the floor and scrambled for the ancient refrigerator, while the Ghoul used the kicked-over a table for cover. They were separated by the doorway, where the minigun continued to assault the back wall.

"Who is it?" Glenda asked, peering over the old appliance to gaze out the grimy window above. A bullet whizzed passed her face and she flung herself down again. "Fuck!"

"What?" Charon demanded.

"Smugglers!"

"Sent...by Obadiah," Marcella coughed, gargling a shocking amount of blood. The deep red fluid was painting the entire lower half of her face, and her body continued to spasm uncontrollably. Glenda sent her a sympathetic look before boldly reaching out to grab up Marcella's dropped assault rifle. A bullet nicked the side of her wrist, and Glenda drew her arm back with gritted teeth. It was hardly a scratch.

"Smugglers aren't tough," Charon said, minimally relieved. "They're not skilled in combat, here!" He tossed a bag towards Glenda, and she recognized it as her pack, which Charon usually carried. "Just give 'em a pear."

Grinning at him, Glenda rummaged into her bag and pulled out two small grenades. "Which one?"

Charon looked out his own window. "I see five smugglers." He said.

"Plasma it is then," she said excitedly, and activated the tiny device. She used Marcella's rifle to blast open the window, and then lobbed the grenade outside. There was a pause in firing, and then a man screamed, "GRENADE!" But it was too late, before they could jump away from the explosive, the plasma grenade popped open and delivered a fiery blast of super-heated plasma, burning all five of the closely-positioned smugglers into piles of green goo.

For a short moment, neither Charon nor Glenda moved, then without hesitation, they scrambled towards Marcella, whose eyes were becoming glazed.

"Get out the stimpaks," Charon said, and Glenda pulled from her pack three needle-like contraptions, which contained a highly reactive, celluar-reconstuctive fluid. Glenda jammed the point into Marcella's heart and let the suction do the rest.

"There's no point," Marcella coughed. "Too much blood is gone, I'm done."

"Way to keep your chin up," Glenda said sarcastically. "Stimpaks automatically replenish blood loss."

But she knew she was wrong. Marcella wouldn't make it, because Stimpaks took ten to twenty minutes to fully heal a wound, and the missionary simply did not have that amount of time.

"You need, to listen to me..." Marcella said, reaching up and grabbing Glenda by the collar of her jacket to pull her closer. Glenda nervously bent over the woman, quite aware of how much blood was pooling around them both. "The Krivbekih is dangerous, and sooner or later you will become like the Swampfolk, or like the Blackhalls. Go to my tent, there is a...message...waiting...for you...there..." And with a final, violent cough of blood, Marcella became still. She had finally gone to see her God.

For a moment, Glenda stayed close, staring into the woman's cold, dead eyes, before she inhaled shakily and closed the lids with her fingers gently. Marcella looked peaceful with her eyes closed, but the same could not be said for those still alive.

"She might be paranoid." Glenda wondered hopefully with a shrug. Charon sent her a disgusted look and stood abruptly. He found the jacket of one of the incinerated smugglers and pulled from it a slip of paper.

"Smugglers and mercenaries all carry their employer's name on them somewhere." The ghoul growled under his breath. "Why? I don't know, but here...Client name, Obadiah Blackhall. Job, to retrieve a book of leather and red binding from a woman named Marcella. Death is the preferable method."

Charon crumpled the paper and tossed it at Glenda, who caught it, but did not open it up to read it for herself. She squeezed the wad in her hand and felt foolish.

After a moment of silence, Charon sighed heavily and ran his hands over his patchy red hair. "We should head back tot he tent."

She shot him a stern glare. "How do you know I'm not still thinking of giving the book to Obadiah for the money?"

Charon rolled his eyes with surprising patience. "Because, I _know_ you're not that cold. You might pretend like your karma's as good as any raider, but I know you, and I know your morals."

He came closer to her and lifted her to her feet by the hand. Charon sighed and let his expression change into something softer, less guarded. He almost smiled. "We hardly knew this woman, but the look on your face just now reminded me of how you looked when your father died."

Glenda closed her eyes and tightened her lips. She suddenly felt very tired and worn out. She wasn't sure if it was because she had jumped into a lake of bodies, dragged through cramped tunnels and drugged, or if she just usually felt this way when, for a moment or two, she and Charon actually enjoyed each others presence.

Glenda finally nodded and gave up. "Alright, let's go to the tent."

* * *

><p>They were not sure what they were looking for, when they got to the shoreline where Marcella had lived. All they had to go by was the last thing she said to them before dying, that a message awaited them. But what Marcella failed to consider was the mess that overwhelmed the whole tent. Obviously, the smugglers had ransacked the place before tracking her to the swamps.<p>

But they were in luck. The only thing that seemed to be untouched was the safe sitting under her terminal, which had been smashed and broken beyond repair. The safe was too big to be carried, and too reinforced to be picked with a bobby pin by any amateur. Luckily, however, Glenda's first achievement in her young life was the hacking of vault terminals and the picking of atrium doors when the entire population of vault 101 was asleep in their sterile beds. It didn't take her long at all to twist a few knobs with nothing but a bobby pin and a screw driver before the heavy metal door opened with a suctioned pop.

Inside, there were fifty caps (which Glenda pocketed immediately and without shame) and a couple rounds of ammo for the assault rifle. Underneath the loot, however, were a few holotapes. Most were dated far in the past, and upon listening to them, were mostly journal entries of Marcella's adventures on the East Coast. She spoke about DC, and a few small towns in the surrounding states. The Pitt, as she called it, was supposedly far up north, and overrun with raider groups and slave populations. Glenda was surprised that kindhearted Marcella had made it to the Pitt and back in one piece. Her accounts about Point Lookout were mostly about Obadiah.

The last holotape in the pile wasn't dated or labeled. Glenda hit play, and listened to Marcella's contemplative voice speak as if she were speaking to them both face-to-face in a worried fashion.

"I am recording this now before I set off to follow you. If you are listening to this, then what I feared has come to pass. Please forgive me, I could not bring myself to trust in you, Glenda. You have no idea what people and forces you are toying with now. The Krivbeknih is dangerous, whether you wish to believe it or not. It has corrupted the Blackhalls, and now the Swampfolk. Obadiah has been watching me, I see him in the hills above my tent, and I know that soon he will send people to kill me. Smugglers around these parts are just as bad as the mercenaries. Since you are hearing this, I only pray that you haven't taken that book to Obadiah. You must take up my mission.

"There is... one way to utterly destroy the Krivbeknih, but you must take a pilgrimage, far north of Point Lookout, in the Capital Wasteland. Seek a place called Dunwich. Within the building is an obelisk, itself a wicked thing. It'll consume the book - you need only press the book to its surface. May God shed his blessings upon you, child. Make haste for Dunwich, and keep your companion close. He protects you out of love, I can see it.

"My God, I am sorry for all my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should..."

The message terminated itself and there was a cold, eerie silence that followed. Glenda held the holotape in her hands loosely, looking at it with blank eyes.

"You know," Glenda said after a long time, making Charon look up at her. "I think for once, I'm actually kind of sad." She gave him a sarcastic smile.

"How does it feel to be human?" He asked softly, reaching out and squeezing her shoulder. _Like you haven't been sad before_, he thought to himself.

"Terrible." She said, and hooked the holotape to her pip boy, downloading the message onto her hard drive so she would never loose it. While it saved the memory, she stroked her chin and looked upwards in thought. "Dunwich, where is that?"

"West of Rivet City," Charon answered. Together, they began to walk towards Pilgrim's Landing, to meet up with Nadine and Dogmeat. "We can reach it within a day and a half on foot when we get back to D.C."

Glenda sighed and finally felt the weight of the situation fall on top of her shoulders. What exactly had she gotten mixed up in? To her, stepping foot onto the familiar soil of the capital wasteland seemed far too desirable. In her coat, the Krivbeknih seemed too heavy in her inner pocket, and it pressed down on her breast as if it were a weight.

She leaned in closer to Charon and wrapped a short arm around his lower back. He gave her a quick look of interest before putting his own arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tightly. While they walked in silence, Charon couldn't help but give himself a fraction of a smile. For Glenda, affection made her weary and exhausted, but for Charon, it gave him a sort of unfamiliar vulnerability, one which he both welcomed and also pushed away. He was glad the strange relationship he had with Glenda was one of few vulnerable moments.

After what seemed like a very long time, the docks of Pilgrim's Landing came into view. The Duchess Gambit was ready to make haste, and smoke rose from it's engines in thick black clouds.

"So," Glenda said as she waved to Nadine to signal their arrival. "You protect me out of love, do you?"

Charon rolled his eyes with a raspy groan and pushed her away from him. Their little moment was gone, and neither of them could really say they missed it at all. "The woman was insane."

Glenda nodded, smiling slyly, "that I'm sure of."

With that said, they climbed onto the ferry and made their way back to the Capital Wasteland. Glenda would not miss Point Lookout at all.


	6. Road to Dunwich

**Chapter Six**

_Road to Dunwich_

There was something about land that made Glenda feel comfortable. Solid, stern, unmoving, _beautiful_ land. It was because of this that she hated, with a deep passion straight from her heart, being anywhere unsteady. She hated riding in the Brotherhood's vertibirds, or climbing rocks that shook under her weight. Above all else, she hated being on or in water, which was why she especially hated, no, _detested_, being aboard the Duchess Gambit.

"You going to be alright there, Gleny-Glen?" Nadine asked, kicking the bucket to Glenda rather than risk getting too close to her. "You look worse than you did on the way to Point Lookout."

"That's because..." Glenda groaned over the edge of the bucket and squeezed her eyes shut as the boat hit a cluster of waves that made it sway back and forth in rhythm. She took deep breaths through her nose and wondered how green her face was getting. "Oh, fuck it, I don't know..."

Nadine threw her head back and laughed loudly as she so usually did. "Aha! You're a funny one, kiddo. Listen, you need to throw up, try and do it over the railing, I use that bucket quite a lot."

"Blow me."

"Of course, babe, of course." And with that, she turned and left the guest cabin, and a second later, Charon stepped in after her. Dogmeat was curled up next to Glenda on the cot, looking at his master with wide, worried eyes.

"You look like shit," the Ghoul said matter-of-factly. He was standing with surprising balance on the rickety boat, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

Glenda didn't respond, but instead shot him a deathly glare. She didn't want him in the cabin at all, and he knew it quite well, but he stayed anyways.

"We're moving pretty fast. Nadine says we'll reach DC by tomorrow morning."

"Fabulous," Glenda groaned, falling onto the cot in a fetal position and trying to think of things other than the bile crawling up her throat. "Wake me when we get there."

Charon gave her a brief smirk, before his eyes landed on the Krivbeknih, which was strewn on the cot between her and Dogmeat. It looked as if she had been attempting to read it.

"Good story?" Asked Charon suspiciously, picking it up before she could groggily turn to try and hide it from him. "Whose the author?"

"Don't start, Charon" she whined, as the Duchess Gambit did a particularly woozy rock. "I was just seeing what was so damn important about it."

"And?"

"Nothing. It's all gibberish, and it's falling apart at the seams."

Charon skimmed through the tattered book skeptically. Indeed it was mostly gibberish, and mostly hand written. It was hard to make out any of the words, but it was written in what appeared to be some sort of broken English, along with elements of several different languages he couldn't understand. There were drawings of some pretty gruesome things, such as a single page dedicated to the anatomy of a skull with flesh still clinging too it. As Charon progressed further into the book, the drawings and writings became even more nonsensical and horrific, until they merged with one another, forming a disturbing mess of scribbled ink and blots of what appeared to be blood.

The Ghoul tossed the book back to Glenda, who took it and slipped it back into her bag. "Weird shit, huh?" She said, as if she were reading some unconventional comic book.

"I don't see why we have to go all the way to Dunwich," Charon said, who was very eager to just lay low for awhile in Rivet City or Megaton, scratching a living off of odd jobs here and there as they had been for several months before setting out to Point Lookout. There was a significant decrease in interesting job opportunities now that the Enclave was practically non existent. The Brotherhood was doing a great job at keeping the super mutants at bay without their help, and the Outcasts were ready to move on to different areas, now that they had retrieved so much technology from the area. Charon could understand why Glenda wanted to find an adventure, even if their was no money in it for her, but... "Why can't we just chuck the book overboard and be done with it. The water will destroy it for us."

Glenda flashed him a blank look. "It's not about the book." She said. "I know the whole obelisk idea is ridiculous but..."

Charon sighed and pressed his palm to his forehead. "You want to do it out of Marcella's memory? Is that it?"

"Hey, don't mock me for having a moral standing, like you said!" She snapped. "I just happen to think what happened to her was unfair and unfortunate, so I'm honoring her last words."

The ghoul gave her an incredulous look. "Unfair and _unfortunate_? What the hell has gotten into you? As long as the book is gone, what does it matter how it's done?"

"I don't want to argue about this now, Charon, I said we're going to Dunwich and that's final!"

He grimaced. "Who are you, my mother?"

Glenda sat up abruptly, her hair flying out in all directions like the mane of a tiger. "Yeah, I'm your damn mother Charon! Stop bothering me and leave me alone! I want to bring the book to Dunwich because I've never been there before, and maybe I'm a little bored of finding scraps of metal for people to get by!" The vein in her forehead seemed about ready to pop, and her fists were squeezing the blanket on the cot so hard her knuckles were white.

"Are you telling me you want to go all the way to Dunwich because you're bored?" Charon scoffed and shook his head.

Glenda glared at him, putting a hand to her mouth as her stomach churned uneasily. "Don't get prissy with me. You know how much I hate staying in Megaton or Rivet City. I can't take the claustrophobia."

"Maybe you should be a caravan merchant then," Charon said sarcastically. "See the wasteland, never settle down, you know, your dreams, Glenda."

"I figured you out of anyone I know would understand. You stood in the Ninth Circle for years without seeing the light of day and, and NADINE _SHUT UP_!"

Charon jumped about a foot into the air, and Dogmeat snapped his head up in alarm. Outside, Nadine's faint voice shouted down from up above. "Shut up? What'd you say Glen?"

"I ain't fucking _deaf_ you know! I can hear you whispering through the walls!" Glenda grabbed a trinket from the desk and chucked it at the ceiling, where it thudded against the wood and fell with a thud back to the floor.

Charon, was looking at her as if she were insane. "Are you crazy?"

"What? You can't hear her? She's been whispering through the walls for the past ten minutes or so. She's pissing me off."

Charon, despite feeling silly, actually exchanged a look of confusion with Dogmeat, who had lowered his head, but was staring at Glenda with wary eyes.

"Alright," Charon said after a moment, "I think you should get some sleep. I'm going back out."

"Whatever," the girl mumbled, as she rolled over and curled closer to Dogmeat. She tried to close her eyes and fall asleep, but the next second she was woken up by someone talking.

_Fucking Nadine_, she would never grow up. Glenda gritted her teeth and was about to yell out at her again, until she realized the speaker was male. And this time, she could almost understand what was being said.

Her first conclusion was that somehow, miraculously, Nadine had gotten Charon in on the joke. But that was just ridiculous. She almost laughed out loud, imaging Charon creeping around making scary noises through the walls.

But she wouldn't drop the possibility too quickly. The voice was faint, but she could understand it. It was saying something along the lines of..."Give it to me..."

Glenda rolled her eyes and shakily stood to her feet, holding onto the walls for support. "Whatever that means, you crazy corpse." She kicked the door open and marched out. But what she expected was not there to greet her. Nadine and Charon were not sneaking around the cabin. They were standing near the front of the Duchess Gambit, having some sort of conversation she could not hear over the hum of the engines beneath her. Glenda looked around slowly, half expecting some sort of trick, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

When she turned to reenter the cabin, Dogmeat wander past her and went to join Charon near the front. Glenda ignored the dog and slammed the door behind her, causing the frame of the walls to shake. She sat down on the cot and pulled at her messy black hair.

"What is going on?" She groaned, as the man's voice started to speak again. He sounded sharper now, and angry. Or was it worry in his voice? She couldn't quite tell...

A book...He was talking about a book...

Glenda shut her eyes tightly and strained her ears. She heard the murmur of the engines beneath her, and the slapping of water against the belly of the Duchess Gambit. Slowly but surely, the sound of the world around her almost dimmed to a kind of white noise.

"I'm lost...lost." Whispered the man faintly, at the back of her mind. "I cannot reach Dunwich...I have...No strength. I just wish I could see my Jaime..."

"Glenda?"

She started, snapping her eyes open and nearly leaping for her shotgun. Charon was standing in the doorway again.

"What do you want?" She snapped. If there was one thing Glenda did not appreciate, it was being startled.

Charon, however, didn't seem like he wanted to fight. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, first letting Dogmeat rejoin them. He walked across the cabin floor and flung himself on an old armchair.

"I thought you went to sleep." He said. He stretched out his arms and let his head fall back on the cushion. He closed his eyes and went still. Glenda watched him with irritated eyes until she heard light snores. She scoffed and rolled back over onto the cot, and shut her eyes tightly.

For awhile, she was rigid, trying desperately to ignore the whimpering voice in her head. The man, whoever he was, was calling out for someone named Jaime, as if he were dying. To Glenda's horror, he probably was.

Finally she groaned. "I can't sleep."

"Try." Came Charon's rough voice, although it was softer and quieter now that he was half asleep.

For a long time Glenda lay there on her cot, eyes closed. The rocking of the boat made her feel wretched, but eventually she drifted off into an uneasy sleep.

When Glenda next awoke, it was dark outside, and the Duchess Gambit was going along at a much steadier pace. She rolled over and realized Charon at one point had left the arm chair to join her, and he was fast asleep, using one arm as a pillow. She stared at him for a few moments, before letting her eye lids close.

Outside the cabin, Glenda could hear Nadine humming a rather heartbreaking song, and slowly she fell back to sleep.

* * *

><p>The next morning they reached the ferry dock near Rivet City. Glenda stumbled out of her cabin, green-faced and dizzy, breathing in the familiar, irradiated air of the Capital Wasteland as if it were making her high.<p>

"Ah, home!" She groaned, flinging herself onto the guard railing and hanging limp from it. Through the early morning mists, she could see Rivet City lit up in the distance, and beyond that, the dome of the Jefferson Memorial. A rush of bad, and some good, memories rushed through her mind then as she rested her cheek against the cold metal bar. As the boat chugged slowly to the dock, Glenda began to feel the comings of sickness, and felt her face go green.

"Good thing you're near the guard railing." Charon said, emerging from the cabin rubbing his neck. He hadn't had a comfortable sleep last night.

Glenda hurled over the edge of the boat, letting the pitiful contents of her stomach contaminate the river water even more. Up above, Nadine howled with laughter.

"Man you're noisy, Gleny-Glen. You two sleep well?" She called down.

Both grunted in response, and when the Duchess Gambit was jumping distance to the dock, Glenda took a leap from the unsteady floor to the surprisingly sturdy structure. It gave one uncertain shake before becoming still. She left Charon to unload her bag of belongings.

"Oh God I love land," Glenda said to herself as she crawled away and hung to a rock. Charon stepped off the boat when it was fully stopped, his boots making heavy noises on the creaky wood.

"Take your bag," he said, handing it out to her. "I'd suggest stopping by Megaton to restock on supplies, but that's a bit out of the way of Dunwich."

"No need to talk yet," Glenda said, holding her hand up to silence him (and to take her bag). "Just give me a minute to get control over my stomach and let Bob stop talking."

Charon stared at her, unamused. "Bob?"

She pointed to her temple. "The fucker who keeps talking about being lost and wanting to see some girl named Jaime."

For a long moment, Charon continued to stare at her, and then repeated himself. "_Bob_?"

"What else do you want me to call him?"

"What are you two blabbering about?" Nadine asked, as she hopped off the Duchess Gambit to see them off. "Fighting again? You know my mom always told me that if you want a healthy relationship you need to find-"

"Nadine, shut it for a second, alright? We're not fighting."

Nadine, clearly hurt by the order to be quiet, looked to Charon with wide, glassy eyes.

Before she could cry, the Ghoul quickly spoke. "She says she's hearing a guy named Bob talking in her head."

The red head looked at Glenda, confusion all over her grimy face. "Really? I ain't never heard of a crazy person admitting to hearing voices that ain't there."

"I'm not crazy," Glenda said, as she got to her feet. "I'm just loosing it."

Charon and Nadine exchanged glances with one another, but they both knew Glenda well enough to know that mentioning something about how insane she sounded would be quite useless. It was best to let her sort out her mental troubles herself.

"Where are you two off to then? Back to Megaton?" Nadine asked.

"Hardly," Glenda said. "We're going to Dunwich."

Nadine made a face to show she was thinking. "I ain't never heard of Dunwich. What's there?"

"Who knows?" Glenda said, shrugging slightly. In her jacket, the Krivbeknih was, once again, quite heavy.

* * *

><p>Charon and Glenda set off right away after reading the Rivet City dock, much to the confusion of Nadine, who had continued to pester them about the happenings in Point Lookout before Glenda grew annoyed and threatened to blow her head off. Unable to see any sign of a bluff in her irritated green eyes, Charon bid farewell to the talkative red head before dragging Glenda away by her collar.<p>

"You know, when you point guns at me, I know you're fucking around. But Nadine's not as used to your stupidity," he said warningly.

Glenda scoffed and kicked at the dirt like a child. "Don't lecture me, alright? Let's just find this obelisk thing."

Unable to truly ignore her serious orders, Charon quieted and they walked in silence for a long time. Dogmeat, exhausted from their adventure south, took to trotting besides Glenda at an even and steady pace. They were back on the roads of D.C. now, a land the three of them were quite used to, unlike the untamed swamps of Point Lookout. D.C., while also untamed, was at least familiar. They were outside of the city perimeter by this point, several miles off from the Citadel, which Glenda seldom visited nowadays. The scenery out here was less building ruins and more abandoned Chevy's and overgrown grass clumps in the dry dirt. If there was one thing about D.C. that Glenda loved, it was anytime she was able to just wander. After spending eighteen years of her life cooped up in a small vault underground, the ability to see for miles ahead of her was just euphoric. Megaton, although she had a permanent residence there, was walled in, and Rivet City was just nothing less than unbearable to be in for more than a couple of hours or so. She didn't even like being in the city, where she was surrounded by walls of debris and rubble. No, someday, when she was ready, Glenda would find a nice place to settle down in the wasteland, where she could walk out her front door and see the bleak horizon.

Years of wandering the wasteland had hardened Glenda into being quite resilient to bouts of exhaustion. Hours went by before she felt even the slightest bit tired, but she knew Dogmeat was getting older nowadays, and the poor canine was starting to pant hard by her side. After several hours of walking, she decided to try and find a place to rest for the night.

"Down there," Charon said, pointing down the hill of rocks they had climbed over, where a small cluster of houses lay about half a mile off, one of which was still standing while the rest were partially caved-in.

Glenda sighed and cracked her neck. "Let's hope it's not a raider house. You know how they pop out of nowhere."

Fortunately there were no raiders, but there were signs of them having been there in the past. Skeletons littered the yard around the house, and bones were hung from fragments of rope tied to the tattered gutters of the roof. The house was definitely not in perfect condition. When Glenda braved the stairs, several steps crumbled beneath her feet, and the roof was mostly gone, leaving the second floor almost entirely exposed to the sky, which wasn't a bad thing really. The master bedroom still had a bed in it, which was soaked through with dried blood, and had a semi-decomposed body lying in it.

Glenda closed that door and decided to sleep on the floor in a room that may have once been an office. The office room was pretty much just a floor with a pile of wood in the corner that must have been a desk at one time. The outer walls had been shredded away with the tearing of the roof, and all that remained were the corners.

"Nice place," Charon said as he climbed the stairs to join her. Glenda was leaning against the inner wall of the study and rubbing her sore neck. Dogmeat immediately collapsed onto the floor and fell into a light sleep.

"What do you say?" Glenda asked, peering out across the barren landscape. "Take turns tonight keeping watch?"

"Might as well go with the usual routine," he said as he started to remove bits and pieces of his armor and tossing them to the side. Charon seldom removed his armor, but when he did Glenda enjoyed the way he flexed and stretched, because his scarred, rotted sin would pull and twist in ways that fascinated her. He groaned as he cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. "You want to go first?"

"I'm exhausted," she replied truthfully.

Glenda took the time to scrounge up a couple of old blankets from her bag, and lay them out on the floor like a futon. They offered little comfort, and even less heat, but Glenda was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places. Whenever they squatted someplace with no security, they trained themselves to sleep light and be alert even while unaware. Sometimes Charon would sleep with his eyes open, but Glenda hadn't yet managed to master it like he had.

Their usual routine consisted of two hour watches through the night, and then a swap. Charon sat at the edge of the floor, his legs hanging off the side, dangling over the garden fence below. He kept his shotgun close, and stared out with placid eyes, looking for any sign of life. More often then not, these watches were boring and uneventful, but occasionally, a scrounging Yao Guai, or (rarely) a Deathclaw would come by and sniff them out. Instances like these were easy enough to take care of. Deathclaws were tougher than hell itself, but a couple of well-aimed shots to the face and they were down long enough to take out entirely, or at least long enough to run from.

Charon rubbed his sunken eyes as a light breeze flowed over the empty land and tossed clouds of dirt at his face. Glenda, meanwhile, was in a restless sleep. Every couple of minutes, Charon would hear her groaned and turn over. He knew by now when to tell if she was uncomfortable, unable to sleep, or dreaming. This night, she was dreaming...

* * *

><p>She could tell immediately where she was, when Glenda opened her eyes and found herself standing at the bottom of a small gorge, flanked on both sides by tall walls of rock and debris. She was in the Capital Wasteland, that was for sure, somewhere south of Tennpenny Tower. She recognized the texture of the dirt and the color of the grass, the familiar star locations in the sky, and even the smell of the air. But she had never been in the gorge before.<p>

Glenda looked down at herself and saw she was dressed in parts of her normal attire. Her blood-stained tank top was half tucked into her ratty jeans, and her boots were caked in mud. But she was missing everything else. She had nothing in her pockets, no coat, no jacket. Her bag was gone and, to her horror, she was unarmed in every sense of the word. Marcella's assault rifle was gone, as was her magnum, which Charon had returned to her. Without a weapon, Glenda felt naked and vulnerable.

She rubbed her hands together and was surprised to see her skin was completely clean (at least, cleaner than she normally maintained it) and even the dirt beneath her nails were gone. Her hair was soft and light, knot-free and washed, like it had been in the vault when she still lived there, but now it felt weird and strange, for she had long since gotten used to living with a nest of half-washed hair on her head.

Letting go of her locks, Glenda did a full turn, looking at her surroundings more closely. It was as if the world had suddenly become red, for everything had a strange hue to it. It was ethereal, and unnerving. Confused, Glenda patted herself down once more, and then froze. The only thing she carried was a book in her back pocket. When she pulled it out and looked at it, she saw that it was the Krivbeknih.

"What in the Hell..." She turned and started to walk down the gorge, wondering where it led. But she saw nothing for a long time, until she came to a bend in the gorge, where she couldn't see beyond. It was then she finally heard voices.

"-vet City is still far away, Julie. It's best if you endure and just eat the tomato."

Glenda looked around wildly as the people drew nearer. There was no place to hide, and the rocks at this part were too large and smooth to climb. She braced herself for the encounter.

"But it smells gross, and it looks gross! I want _regular_ food, mom!"

The source of the voices finally became clear as they came round the bend. Glenda froze and stared, seeing a young girl leading a Brahmin by a leash, a tall, skinny woman, and an even taller man, whose beard was so full it put Lucas Simms to shame. The woman was carrying a bundle in her arms, which squirmed and wriggled.

The traveling family didn't take a single notice of her as they closed the distance.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but it's all we have," said the mother to the young girl leading the Brahmin. In the girl's hand was a sack that dropped low to the ground, and had an unappealing smell wafting from it. The mother held a rather disgusting-looking object in her hand, which Glenda recognized as a tomato. She was surprised they even existed out in the Wastes anymore. Although, it was spotted with rotted flesh and had the appetizing appeal equivalent of French kissing a Yao guai.

The mother held it out and urged the little girl to eat it. "when we reach Rivet City in two days, darling, you'll have better food."

"I don't care! I can't eat that!" She whined, and then turned her head and made a disgusted look at her Brahmin.

Glenda watched the family curiously as if she were invisible. Her attempts to speak with any of them fell on deaf ears, and she realized she was as much a part of this event as the rocks in the dirt. All she could do was watch and observe in befuddlement.

It wasn't long, however, until the vision changed drastically. One minute, she was watching little Julie bicker with her mother over a rotten tomato, and the next...She was standing at the top of the gorge, looking down at them. Besides her, a young man stood, looking nervous.

"I don't know," he said to someone behind him. Glenda turned and nearly fell off from the edge she was so startled. There were five raiders behind her, all of whom looked more inhuman than the next. Their dirty, swarthy skin was streaked with sweat, and their skimpy outfits were worn-out and stained with blood and other fluids Glenda didn't care to think about. All of them had blood-thirsty looks in their eyes, and were looking down at the family with anticipation.

Never in her life had Glenda seen Raiders like this up close and alive. She was shocked to see they were not at all like the Raiders she usually crossed paths with, but seemed much more..._cannibalistic_. They wore no trophies, or seemed to reside in any one place. instead, they looked travel-worn, and were nothing but skin and bone and rags. The boy besides Glenda, however, seemed more like a new recruit.

In a pouch strapped to his waist, Glenda saw something poking out from beneath the flap. When she squinted to see it better, she saw that it was the same thing she was carrying in her back pocket. Yet this Krivbeknih seemed slightly less tattered.

"Two adults, a kid, and a baby." One of the Raiders said, gleaming excitedly as he stared down. "And a tasty-looking Brahmin."

"So it's just the Brahmin we're after?" The new recruit asked nervously. Glenda could tell he was frightened about something. He was a bit younger than her, maybe in his eighteenth or nineteenth year, but he wasn't from the Capital Wasteland, that much Glenda could tell. His accent suggested he came from somewhere out west, or perhaps down south, and he seemed oddly well-fed, for a wastelander.

"I can already smell that fucker cookin'," said a girl Raider, who almost looked aroused by smell of coming violence in the air. Deeply, Glenda wished she had control over this dream, which she was certain she was in, so she could conjure up a gun from nowhere and blast them all to hell.

"Alright," said another, who was bigger and more authoritative than any of the others. Glenda supposed that he was their leader. "Let's go."

"Wait!" The young boy said, but none of his companions listened to him. They all suddenly charged down the rocks, somehow finding a way to the bottom of the Gorge without falling to their death. Hesitantly, the young one followed.

The family was taken by surprise, and although the father pulled a 10mm out of his holster, he was too slow, and it was knocked from his hand. The Raiders were rowdy and violent, and began to laugh like hyenas while they pushed around the family and tormented them. The Brahmin was startled and began to grow confused, but before it could try and run away, a Raider hacked it to shreds with a machete. Blood soaked him from head to foot when he was done, and the beast fell to the ground in a disgusting heap. Julie started to scream.

"We're eating tonight!" The raider screamed, holding the machete above his head, where droplets of blood fell to the ground in thick trails.

The other raiders began to get rowdy. Glenda knew why they were called Raiders, but she had never seen an actual _raid_ before now. She had always stumbled onto raider camps or seen the aftermaths. It was grittier than she imagined it would have been, and she felt a bit nausea in her stomach. The young recruit was standing awkwardly to the side, looking very out of place and green in the face.

The father of the family was trying his best to shield his wife and children, but he looked and probably felt hopeless. The only girl raider was looking incredibly pleased with the success of their raid, and was singing a raspy song as she circled and skipped around the four victims, toying with them. When she passed Julie, she pushed back the girl's hair with the butt of her rifle. The little girl whimpered and tried to get closer to her mother, but the raiders were keeping them separated.

Glenda watched helplessly as the father tried to reason with the madmen. He begged them to take the Brahmin and leave them in peace, but the man must have been delusional to think that raiders were reasonable people. They laughed at his fruitless attempts at bargaining, and slowly but surely, the man realized that he and his family were doomed.

"Maybe we should just take the Brahmin," said the young Raider, who was looking quite pale by this point.

The raiders were starting to get irritated with his buzz killing, and the leader walked up to him and shoved him hard in the chest. "Shut your fucking mouth, or else you'll be joining them."

The very threat made the boy fall silent at once, but Glenda could still see his hand shaking as it gripped a tire iron with sweaty hands. He was eying the pathway up to the top of the gorge with anxious eyes.

"Check out these veggies!" Cried one of the raiders, grabbing something from Julie's hands and taking one of the contents out. It was a round head of yellow and brown lettuce, hardly big enough to feed two people.

"Brahmin steak and carrots tonight boys!" The raiders began to cheer, but out of nowhere, little Julie ripped herself from the raider's hold and grabbed the sack of rotten vegetables away from them. the bumbling raider attempted to grab her, but Julie was quicker than she appeared.

"Run! Julie RUN!" Her parents began to scream. The young girl hesitated for a moment but then turned on her heels and started to run as fast as she could.

"CATCH HER!" the lead raider roared, and to his fury, he watched as the young raider simply allowed the girl to run past him without even a single attempt to grab her. Julie ran full speed down the Gorge, back towards the direction she had originally come from.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Screamed the girl raider, as she got into the young recruit's face and shoved him to the ground. She pulled a sawed off shotgun from her holster and aimed it at Julie. the girl was still in range, and Glenda watched, horrified, as the back of her head was blasted away and her little frame fell to the ground. She was dead instantly.

Before her parents even had time to scream, they were being beaten to death by the raiders holding melee weapons. Tire irons and baseball bats broke their bones and cracked open their skulls, and their shrieks of pain rang out between the high walls of the gorge.

Somehow, the baby was wrestled out of the mayhem by the girl raider, who was looking at it with an inhumane glint in her eyes. She held the wailing child high above her head, and threw it to the ground-

But it never collided. As if from nowhere, the young raider bounded forward and caught the child before death could take it. As soon as he had a grip on the baby, he sprinted, as fast as his long legs could take him, towards the pathway up the gorge. The female raider screamed with fury, and immediately there was a rain of bullets upon the two escapees, but the rocks covered them enough for them to remain unharmed.

"_JAIME_!" Was the last word Glenda heard before she woke up.

* * *

><p>Somewhere, a dog was barking, but it seemed far away, and when Glenda opened her eyes, all she could see was darkness. It took her a moment to realize it was still night out, and the sky above was dotted with stars.<p>

"Glenda!" Came a familiar growl besides her. She flinched violently when she realized Charon was also hovering over her, his rotted, corpse-like face almost entirely shrouded by shadows. And he was shaking her shoulders roughly. She realized that it was Dogmeat who was barking.

Still startled from being woken up, and even more alarmed at the burning images in her mind, Glenda pushed Charon away and crawled away backwards from him until her back was up against a busted door frame.

"Fucking sit still, would you?" Charon barked, standing up and grabbing her shoulders again, trying to get her to calm down. Her palms were sweaty and she felt unbearably cold, and she was shaking. "Get a hold of yourself."

"Where-where am I?" She asked madly, although she knew perfectly well where she was.

"We're in the house still, remember? You've only been asleep for an hour."

Glenda, whose breathing was far too erratic for her own good, began to relax. Her muscles released their tension, and she started taking in deep, oxygen-rich breaths that slowed her frighteningly quick heartbeat. Charon was facing her, quite alarmed, and was rubbing her shoulders up and down rhythmically, trying to get her to calm down.

And hour...Glenda could hardly believe those frightening images had taken place over an entire hour...they felt like they had taken place over the course of ten minutes. She could still see the back of Julie's head exploding into bits of fleshy debris when she started to wheeze.

Charon pulled the girl close and continued to rub her arms and warm her with friction. He had seen Glenda dream before, but this was intense.

After a long time, Glenda was breathing evenly, and warming up. Charon, who was at a loss for what to say, was simply watching her closely. After she fumbled for a cigarette from her back and inhaled deeply, he frowned and seemed to shake away his confusion.

"What happened?" He asked warily, "One minutes you were just turning in your sleep, and the next minute you were acting like you couldn't breathe."

Glenda gave him a surprised look. And it was at that very moment that she realized something. If felt as if there were hands on her shoulders, although Charon had removed his several minutes earlier. She touched her collar bone nervously, and grimaced in confusion as she felt nails prick her neck. But when she felt for blood there were no marks.

"I guess I was just having a smoker's cough or something," she said, adverting her eyes away."

Charon shook his head and reached out to make her look at him. "No, you were _suffocating_. It was like you were being choked."

Anxiously, Glenda touched her neck and tried to imagine what had been happening to her. "I...Was just having a bad dream."

"Dreams don't make your face turn purple." Charon said dryly, although he was touching her with care instead of his usual rough grasp.

"Shut up," Glenda said, but not angrily. She was starting to feel her heart beat faster again, and the only thing she wanted was for Charon to be close. "I had the worst dream..."

For a moment, it seemed as if Charon would make a sarcastic remark, and Glenda braced herself for it, wondering what snarky remark she would use against him, but he saw the severity in her eyes, in the dim light the stars shed on them. She was shaken up more than he had seen her in awhile, almost as much as she had been when she had seen her father die.

Finally, he sighed and asked, "what did you see?"

She looked at him uncertainly at first, and then looked away. "I don't remember," she lied, "it faded away fast."

The ghoul raised his eyebrow with disbelief. "Well, you might want to try to remember."

Glenda suddenly reached over and grabbed the Krivbeknih out of her back pocket and tossed it away from her. She threw her denim jacket over it to make sure she couldn't see it. Charon looked at her, confused.

He was about to ask her why she threw it aside, but he was unable to speak as Glenda threw herself at him and kissed him hard on the lips.

Surprised, Charon's response was typical. He reached up to try and pry her off him, but she grabbed his arms and pinned him down on the floor. In a contest of strength, Charon could have thrown her off, but as a man he wasn't really inclined to do so. Although he hadn't expected Glenda to get horny all of a sudden, it wasn't as if he hadn't seen this side to her before.

As Glenda straddled his hips accordingly, he began to respond more with more normality. He grabbed her hips and squeezed tightly as he made her grind him back and forth. A small, almost inaudible groan escaped him. His ran his hands up to her shoulder blades and crushed him against his chest.

"What...inspired...this?" Charon asked her between kisses.

Glenda pulled away for a split second, looked at him thoughtfully, then smiled to herself and muttered, "I don't know, I just need it." She dived back in after that and bit his lower lip. This always made him go wild, and in one swift movement, he had her on her back, her legs spread out on either side of his hips. It seemed like forever since he had last been physical like this with her, but this was normal for both of them.

Charon cupped her breasts with his strong as he kissed her, and Glenda responded with a brief moan and a hand through his red hair.

"That feels good," she whispered in his ear. He pulled her tank top off in a hurried motion and exposed her entirely, and he bent over to run his tongue over her nipples while she tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Charon pushed down on her until his weight had her pinned down completely, and then he started to unbutton her jeans.

"Get my boots off first," Glenda said into his ear as she nipped him down to his collar bone. It was an unusual sensation, putting her mouth to the skin of a ghoul, but over the years Glenda had gotten used to the rough, dryness of Charon's skin and the numerous patches of exposed muscles, which had long since crusted over. However, the Wasteland was a place of bigotry and hate, and the idea of a smoothskin with a ghoul was bizarre and unwanted. It was for this reason she remained aloof when it came to being affectionate towards him in public. In fact, even when they were alone she was aloof, and sometimes she felt guilty.

The ghoul had no trouble at all unlacing her mud-caked boots and tossing them to the side. He finished unbuttoning her jeans before pulling them down and off her ankles, revealing her short, pale legs that were dotted with bruises and old scars.

Glenda sat up at that point and undid Charon's zipper. She was shaking with anticipation and eagerness, and wanted him as close to her as possible. He was already hard, but it wasn't that difficult to get him excited when he dropped his guard around her. He watched with focused eyes as her small fingers anxiously pulled out his growing erection and led it to the center of her legs.

They had gone through this ritual several times in the past few years. Glenda was known to sleep around with nearly any man she met on her adventures, but she had seldom gone crawling back to them like she had done with Charon. Fortunately, he was one of the lucky ghouls, who suffered very little scarring around his pelvic area, just as Glenda was a lucky girl who needed very little stimulation to reach an orgasm.

Without wasting time, Charon pushed into her, and let out a raspy sigh as he felt the tightness press around him and finally bring his erection to full height. Glenda grabbed his shoulders and arched her back, pushing her hips towards him until he filled her to his hilt.

"Yes," she moan quietly, as Charon began a steady rhythm, thrusting into her body with slow pumps at first. Glenda bit her lower lip and watched as he pulled out as far as he could before pushing back into her with a sudden and stimulating force. It didn't matter that Glenda seemed to be in a far-off land, which she was only pulled back from when Charon thrust into her. His rough hands explored her silky legs, tracing the patterns of her scars with his index fingers and kissing her neck. The floor beneath them was hard and uncomfortable, but Glenda moaned without complaint. Her eyes were shut tight, and she was digging her fingers into his shoulders.

"Faster..." She breathed into his ear, and he sped up on command. His slow thrusts became quicker, and he slid into her harder until he made dull, hard sounds whenever their hips met. Glenda threw her head back and let out a cry, and Charon took the opportunity to bite her neck and collar bone. All the while, she was groaning and grinding against him. "Yes, oh God, yes," she whispered, spreading her legs apart further until she was entirely full. With each motion he made, he stirred up a fire in her stomach and her legs trembled.

Charon grunted and sat up so he was hovered over her. With one hand on the floor next to her head, he pressed down hard on her abdomen and began to pump into her without restraint. Glenda bit her lip, trying to keep quiet, but soon enough she lost control of her breath and let out muffled screams. She called out his name and groped at his jacket, but he didn't let her slow him down. He continued to speed up until the only sounds were her cries and the hard beats of him pumping into her.

After several minutes of this, Glenda began to spasm beneath him. She tried to arch her back, but Charon kept her down and went harder, grunting the whole time. Glenda's legs wrapped around his legs until the tightness made him dizzy, and she finally reached orgasm, with a loud cry and a shiver of delicate muscles. Charon could feel the contractions inside of her squeezing him even tighter, and he finally let himself go. He came into her at several minutes later, and when he had finished, he groaned and put his head next to hers.

For a time, they were both silent, trying to catch their breaths, and Charon was stroking the side of her face, where sweat had plastered her hair to her temples. Glenda, still sensitive, took in deep breaths as her climax passed away.

"Are you okay?" He asked, touching foreheads with her. She nodded, and brought a hand up to wipe away the tears from her eyes. These tears were of a sexual origin, however, and soon she was completely dry-eyed.

"Much better," she breath, and tilted his head down to kiss him. When he finally pulled out of her, she felt the wetness between her legs and let out a sigh.

When she was still in the vault living her boring life underground, Glenda had suffered a injury after falling off the ledge of the overseer's floor down onto the atrium floor. The drop had broken her pelvic bone and it would be a few more years until she would learn that she would never bear children. At the time, Glenda had thought nothing of it, but as the years passed, and the adventures became less and less, she secretly realized that she always wanted a child. But she would never have one.

Charon sat up and started to zip up his pants. Glenda pulled her jeans, tank top, and boots back on before lighting up a cigarette and staring out across the wasteland.

Silence passed between them for a long time before Charon finally broke it. "Where did that come from?" He couldn't hide the satisfaction in his voice, but he defiantly sounded confused. Glenda kept sex with him to a minimum, because a part of her still tried to deny the fact that they were lovers, and whenever they did make love, it was usually because she needed a way to vent her frustration.

Glenda looked at him warily and blew out a cloud of smoke from her puckered lips. "I had a dream about Raiders."

The ghoul frowned, confused. He could tell there was something more to this. "And?"

She looked away and shrugged. "And, one of them shot a little girl in the back of the head with a shotgun while her parents were looking, and it reminded me of when I saw my dad die."

Charon sighed and moved closer to her, so she could lay her head in his lap and fall back to sleep. For now, he wouldn't worry about keeping watch, they were safe enough anyways, and he felt tired now after their little performance. Slowly but surely, they both fell asleep. Charon didn't notice that Glenda had taken the Krivbeknih back and was now hugging to her chest, or that she muttered the name _Jaime_ in her sleep.


End file.
